ABOUT twenty-five years ago, a certain small
boy who lived in Boston had a slight attack
of illness. It was nothing serious in itself, but
it led to something remarkable; for, one day,
when the patient was rather fretful and listless,
his father, to amuse him, began with a pair of
scissors to cut out figures from paper a
horse, a dog, a cow. The little lad was in-
stantly interested, and his delight was doubled
when he found that after a few trials he, too,
could make pictures with the scissors.

his neck, and every-
where he went, they
went too. The little fingers were constantly busy
turning out silhouettes of everything that at-
tracted the child's fancy, until he became as
skilful with his odd tool as many an older artist
is with his brush. Strangely enough, he showed
no desire to draw, and of all those who marveled
at his knack of picture-making and wondered
what would come of it, probably no one ima-
gined that in later life he would win a brilliant
reputation with his pencil. For the little boy
of those days is now the Charles Dana Gibson
whose work has gained such eminence in the
last few years that it is almost unusual to take
up a copy of a high-class magazine that does
not contain at least one article illustrated by
him. Every one knows "Gibson's girls"-
those majestic and charming creatures who put
into visible form the ideal of the best type of
American young womanhood; but it seems a
long way from them back to the quaint products
of the artist's childish skill.
The earliest attempts of the small boy's fin-
gers were rude, naturally enough. He began
by cutting out pictures of monkeys, and quickly
went on to other animals. While there could
never be any doubt what the figures were
meant to be, it must be acknowledged that the
earliest apes and squirrels were wanting in
spring, and that his dogs and horses lacked

CHARLES DANA GIBSON AT THE AGE OF EIGHT.
From that day he and they were almost in-
separable. His mother feared he might injure
himself with sharp scissors, and so he was pro-
vided with a good-sized pair of round-pointed
shears. These he wore hung by a string around

I

THE GIBSON BOY.

spirit. But these qual-
ii i'. -. ,: n ,,.: I rl ill.;

He found his models everywhere: the circus
and the menagerie abounded in suggestions for
pictures, the Natural History Museum was a
treasure-house of designs. The image of the
animal seemed to be photographed upon the
child's brain, and as soon as he was at home
the scissors were at work reproducing the
figure.
To look at the boy as he worked, no one
would have thought him especially intent upon
his occupation. He would sit quietly, his eye-
lids drooped, apparently indifferent to the fate
of the picture he was shaping. He did not

shift the shears in cutting, as an older person
....u1l.1 .1.:.. but held them stationary and moved
i .: p1:',..r. When he began to use the scissors
!i-;: i.il .'as too small to hold them in the or-
.1,i.n,,, !'.i--lion, so while his thumb was thrust
tii.:.i.i, ...ne loop of the handle, his fingers
Closed around the outside of the
other loop a trick Mr. Gibson
has never unlearned, for to this
day he wields a pair of scissors in
the same manner as in his almost baby days.

To the little artist the material upon
which he worked seemed to be of no
consequence. Any paper, white or
tinted, thick or thin, blank or written
over, would answer, so long as it was
uncrumpled. There was no paste-
brush used to join different parts of
his pictures; a single piece of paper
would serve for a figure, and some-
times for a series of figures, or for a
whole scene. The delicate foliage
of his trees and vines, the convolu-
tions of his serpents, the open mouths
of his baby birds, were wrought by the

THE GIBSON BOY.

clumsy shears with as much apparent ease as
the bolder outlines of his figures of people and
large animals. In and out of the jaws of the
big scissors would move the slip of paper, until
the lace-like picture fluttered forth complete.
As the child grew older he did not restrict
himself to copying in his silhouettes only the
living or pictured models that came in his path.
His future skill as an illustrator was foreshad-
owed in the way he chose his subjects. He
would come home from school full of some
story he had heard there.
They read such a nice story in the class to-
day," he would say. See, I will make you a

And forth-
with the fin-
gers would be
atworkcutting
out the image
of the dog who
took care of

his master's
horse, of the
countryman
who whipped
some balking
mule, or of the
quarrelsome
rooster in his
various bel-
ligerent atti-
tudes. One

laughable
works shows
a hen and
her chickens
fleeing before
the pursuing foe. Each little chick is evidently
in a different state of mind from any of the oth-
ers. The first tiptoes along sedately serene, be-
cause it is close to its mother; the second makes
longer strides to overtake the old hen; while the
third, conscious of the fierce enemy close be-
hind, brings its wings to aid its legs in flight.
The pictures did not always deal with homely
or domestic subjects. Sometimes there would
be produced a mounted Indian on the war-path,
or rabbits leaping through the grass, or a fa-
ther bird defending the approach to his home
against a thievish snake with darting tongue,
while the mother bird hangs protectingly over
the nest that swings from the end of the bough.
The little Dana had other inspiration than
that furnished even by the stories he heard
or the pictures he saw. His quick imagination
was at work devising scenes to illustrate, and
droll and tricksy fancies leave their mark on his
work. Here a small
dog, with spectacles
perched on his nose,
rides a pony. Here
a rabbit and a squirrel
meet, and shake hands.
There a procession de-
files before him, a bird
in front holding out a
hat for contributions, a
rabbit whose long ears
flap from under his
drum-major's bearskin,

270

THE GIBSON BOY.

a helmeted rooster bearing a banner, and, last
in the line, a dog dressed like an old woman,
wearing an apron and a bonnet, and carrying
a broom. Again, it is a small pig that struts
along with his umbrella spread over his head,
while all the birds look at him in amazement;
or else it is an attempt at caricature in the
picture of a boy with an abnormally large head
and absurdly long fingers and toes.

family and friends mar-
veled at the cuttings, and
collected and preserved
specimens of the child's
work. They even had
some of them displayed
at an art exhibition, where
they called forth notice
and comment from Mr.
SClarence Cook.
But perhaps the most
remarkable thing in the
whole exhibition," he
wrote, "are the frames
that contain the silhou-
ettes in white paper, cut
by Master Dana Gibson,
a boy now ten or twelve
years old, but who cut many of these figures -
and many of
the best of
them when
he was but
eight years
old. In almost
every case they
are cut from
the idea in his

own mind, not copied from other pictures,
and they are done without any aid whatever
from teaching; the work is the product of
instinct without training. The subjects are
all of life in action; whatever is done, is
done with a perfection that we never saw
surpassed."
So far from seeming unduly puffed up by the

received, the
child showed
only surprise.
To him there
appeared no
difficulty in
such work.
"Any one
could do it,"
he would say
simply, when
some person
would com-
ment upon his
proficiency.
"Any one can
do it who will
try. It 's the
easiest thing in
the world."
For none of
his designs did
he ever draw an outline. In fact, at the time
he was doing his best work of this kind he had
never taken a drawing-lesson, although he be-
longed to a family of artistic tastes, and his grand-
father, his father, and his mother had all had more
or less facility with brush or pencil. But the lad's

THE GIBSON BOY.

designing was done altogether with hi1 ;.i~-
sors. With only these he managed to .-.:i. ei-
shades of meaning and of expression,
and to give spirit and life to his
pictures. Even although he repeated
his subjects again and again, there
was great variety in his work.
And he had infinite patience.
Over and over he would cut out
a picture until he had it, to his
mind, exactly right. His failures
would be crumpled in his hand and
tossed aside without a word. One
day some one who had watched him
as he rejected cutting after cutting,
asked him what was the trouble.
"It's that dromedary's lip," sighed tli. .-hInl..
pausing in his work and lifting a puzzl.i ir....,.
"I have tried and tried, but I 'm ilr.i. 1
can't get it right without going to -e tl,-.
dromedary again."
Until Dana was ten years old he was a
rather quiet, stay-at-home little fellow. He
was full of fun of a dry kind, and occasionally
there would come a flash of sarcasm that showed
his wits were not confined to his finger-tips.
As he grew older and became interested in
outdoor sports and made boyish friendships,
his paper-cuttings began to be neglected, and
when he was about fourteen years of age he
laid down his shears. In their place he took
:up the pencil.
Among the last of his silhouettes that have

been preserved are the picture of a child dig-
ging in the sand, and that of the boy with the
cockatoo perched upon his wrist. The eager-
ness of the little girl as she bends forward so
that her short skirt tilts up at the back, her lips
parted, her shovel and pail firmly grasped, are
photographic in their clearness; while in the
pose of the boy the mingled pride and fear
with which he holds the bird are as accurately
given as the minutest details of his dress. No
shading or coloring could make the picture
more vivid.
This slight sketch must close at the very
outset of Mr. Gibson's artistic career. He was
only sixteen years old when
h1- enti-erd the Nc.- Yn.-rk
Art L- .:. : a pui!. rin

I. : ...t \ lt (lirri ,.
N ... ... l Ie 1 !,

i. I, !..l. .i l I .
owes to the train-
ingineyeandhand
he unconsciously
gave himself as a
boy; but it is easy
to trace in his
scissors silhouettes
the power he pos-
sesses in an emi-
nent degree of giv-
ing a picture in a
few clear, telling strokes. The direct vision
of his childhood he has never lost.

THE PRIZE CUP.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

Z.,.
I

*- l *i : ^ h

YI
!

$1 !

.ii ''
. i.'^

"'WHY, WHAT IS IT, TRACE?' ASKED IDA LISLE."

[Begun ihn te November number.
CHAPTER XV.
TRACY TRIUMPHANT.
THERE comes Tracy. He 's a remarkably
fine boy. The mother is a rare woman, but
she finds it a hard struggle to get along, and
it's a constant study with some of the well-to-
do parishioners how to help the family with-
out making them feel that they are objects of
charity. Notice what a frank, engaging face

he has! Fred said, as Tracy, brightly smiling,
came down the bank.
How are you, Trace ?" he went on, when
Tracy was nearer, and gave the new-comer a
hearty handshake. This is my friend, Mr.
Canton Quimby, of Yale. We have just taken
a run up from the beach to look at our place.
What did Laurie tell you ? "
He said you were here, and a friend with
you, not quite so tall, but a little stouter, and
with fuller cheeks," said Tracy, laughing to see

THE PRIZE CUP.

how perfectly the Yale Junior answered the
child's description.
All that in his own sign-language ? Can-
ton Quimby inquired with evident interest.
Oh, yes; he has been more our teacher in
that than anyone has ever been his. Come up
to the house, won't you ? Mother will be glad
to see you," said Tracy.
I 'm afraid we can't at present," Melverton
replied; "but I 've something to say to you
here. Sit down, for it may be a long story."
But Tracy remained standing before the
young men on the bench, while he heard
from Fred's lips, with running comments by
Quimby, an account of the strange doings on
the Melverton premises, and of Gid's dismissal.
Astonishment at the loss of the cup, and the
mystery attending it, and, as must be owned,
the satisfaction of his grudge against Gideon,
sent the blood mounting to the boy's head in
keen excitement.
I never had any faith in that Ketterell fel-
low !" he exclaimed; and I was surprised-"
A timely recollection of his mother's warning
checked the impetuous outburst; but for that
he might have gone on and given his latest,
burning reasons for disliking Gideon.
"Surprised I should have employed him,"
Melverton rejoined. "I am a little surprised
myself. But my mother thought we ought to
give him a chance. And I surely believed he
was honest. Mind, I don't say I 'm convinced
to the contrary yet. He has unquestionably
been negligent, and he may have been know-
ingly unfaithful, but we are bound to have a
good deal of charity for the son of so worthy
a mother-and of so unworthy a father!"
That 's true," Tracy assented, generously;
"that 's what mother says. Old man Ketterell
can't be trusted even to collect money for the
washing his wife does to support the family.
Gid comes honestly by his shiftlessness."
So we won't be hard on him," Fred went
on. But this affair must be looked into;
and in the meanwhile, Tracy, can't you, as a
special favor to me, keep your eye on the
place, and perhaps air the house for us in fine
weather ? "
Tracy was delighted.
I '11 do anything that Gid did,- or ought

to have done,--and think it nothing but sport,"
he said, heartily.
"That 's altogether too much," the young
man protested.
"Just let me try it!" cried the boy. Our
own garden does n't take more than a few
hours a week, and Mr. Walworth likes to help
about that. I get tired of reading and study.
And I shall be so glad to do the least thing
in return for all the favors your family has done
for us," he added, with grateful emotion.
Oh, don't mention trifles of that sort!"
Fred replied, with responsive feeling. Then
he resumed:
"It 's just possible you may pick up a clue
that will lead to the unraveling of the mystery.
Look out for any suspicious characters that
come prowling about the place; and find out,
if you can, any that have been seen there dur-
ing Gid's administration. If you make any
discoveries, send me at once a telegram that
I and nobody else will understand, for I
don't want any publicity given to the affair at
present. I sha' n't mention it to a living soul,
except the chief of police."
Can I tell my own folks ? Tracy asked,
thrilled to the roots of his hair by the confi-
dence his friend reposed in him, and by the
importance of his trust. It did n't seem possi-
ble that he could keep it all to himself.
"Tell them oh, certainly; we can rely
upon their discretion," Fred replied. Now
come over to the house, and I '11 give you the
keys and explain matters."
"You 're sure you can't just step up to the
door and speak to my mother and Ida ? said
Tracy.
But Fred answered firmly: Not this time ";
and led the way up the Melverton bank.

CHAPTER XVI.

TRACY GETS A CLUE."

WHY, what is it, Trace ? said Ida Lisle,
noticing her brother's panting breath and
gleaming eyes when he came in to dinner.
"The strangest things have been happen.
ing! he exclaimed. "They 're not to be
spoken of outside,"-he glanced around at the

274

THE PRIZE CUP.

young minister coming out of his study -"but
I can tell you all, here at home."
And, without waiting to be questioned, he
broke forth impetuously;
"The Melverton house has been entered,
Fred's beautiful prize cup has been stolen, Gid
Ketterell has been turned off, and I am in
charge "
The exciting news was discussed as the fam-
ily sat down at the table.
I am sorry for Gideon and so sorry for
his mother! said Mrs. Lisle. I hope he is
not suspected of taking the cup."
Not exactly, but- "
And Tracy went over the circumstances of
the case as well as he could recall them.
Now I am to look after the place, and do
what I can if there 's anything I can do -
toward clearing up the mystery. I have n't
the slightest idea how I am to begin."
"Possibly I can give you a hint," suggested
Mr. Walworth. "Gideon, I understand, says
he received no one into the house in the ab-
sence of the family ? "
He was quite positive about that; so Fred
told me," replied Tracy.
I shall regret to contradict Gideon's testi-
mony," rejoined the young minister. You
know the rock among the syringas, where I
sometimes have my cushion, and my book, and
my writing-pad "
"Your out-door study, we call it," said Ida.
Last Tuesday afternoon I was there, mak-
ing some notes, when I noticed a young fel-
low coming down through the hollow by the
brook. Something in his manner excited my
curiosity; and I watched him as he went up
rather slyly over the bank toward the Melver-
ton house. I saw him throw something from
behind the shrubbery; then I heard a voice,-
two voices,- and he disappeared in the direc-
tion of the house. I continued to hear the
voices for a while, then they ceased with the
shutting of a door. I had forgotten the circum-
stance, and was absorbed in my studies again,
when-I hardly know how long after-I heard
the same subdued voices, and shortly after saw
the same young fellow come down over the
bank, moving cautiously till he got into the
ravine. Then, instead of going up the brook,

the way he came, he followed it down toward
the bridge, and I lost sight of him."
More than once during this recital Tracy had
interrupted it to demand excitedly,-" Who
was it ? Who was the fellow ? and his sister
had silenced him with, Can't you wait a min-
ute ? Can't you let him tell his story ? At
length the minister replied:
"I don't know his name; but I have several
times seen him, oftener on the river than any-
where else. Under the clump of willows, not
far from where the brook flows in, somebody
keeps a boat, which I have seen him help him-
self to, as if he had a right to it."
A muscular young fellow with a bend in his
shoulders? Carries his head forward-like
this ?" cried Tracy eagerly.
That 's it; that 's very like him," Mr. Wal-
worth smilingly assented.
"It 's Osk! It 's Oscar Ordway! Tracy
exclaimed. The very last fellow the Melver-
tons would wish to enter their house "
"Mind, I don't say positively he did enter
it," said the minister. I 've only told you
how it appeared to me."
Of course Gid let him in," Tracy cried ju-
bilantly. You 've given me a very important
point, Mr. Walworth. If Osk Ordway did n't
drink some of that cider, and if he does n't
know something about the missing cup, then
there 's no sense in my knowledge-box! "
Don't start out with the notion that there's
more sense in it than there really is," his sister
warned him, laughingly. "There's a limit even
to that, as we all know."
Oh, but anybody can see," cried her bro-
ther, Osk is in it, and Gid knows he is. I
know boys that know Osk, and I 'm going into
this affair, to the very bottom."
Don't be rash, my son," his mother cau-
tioned him. Whatever yoi do, be consider-
ate, be discreet."
Considerate ? echoed the boy, in a flush
of high spirits. I 'm the most considerate,
the most discreet--I '11 prove it to you! In
all my talk with Fred Melverton, I never men-
tioned the mean trick Gid played our Laurie,
nor his impudent attempt to drive me from the
place. If that does n't show forbearance! "
Well, be as circumspect in everything, and

THE PRIZE CUP.

I shall be satisfied," said his mother. Why,
Laurie! where have you been?" she cried,
precisely as if the child, who just then came run-
ning in, had possessed the sense he lacked.
There had been inquiries for Midget as the
family were sitting down to dinner; but he was
so wayward a little wanderer, often very hard
to find, since no calling could make him hear,
that they gave little heed to his absences, as-
sured that he would reappear when he was
hungry, if not before.
He was in a joyous mood, and he had a
merry tale to tell, which all except the minister
understood.
"Somebody has taken him to ride," said his
sister.
On a bicycle," added Tracy, reading the
child's rapid gestures. "There were two bi-
cycles; they picked him up at the bridge-"
Gave him a fine ride to the village," Ida
struck in, "and dropped him at the bridge
again."
"Fred and his friend," concluded Tracy;
"it was Fred who gave him the ride. They
were going to see the chief of police."
"You don't mean to say he tells you thati "
said Mr. Walworth.
"Oh, no, not about Fred's errand to the
village," Tracy replied. "Fred told me that
was his intention. I wish I could have caught
him when he came back to the bridge, to tell
him about Osk Ordway. For it 's a clue he
cried, "decidedly a clue, and I am going to
follow it up "

CHAPTER XVII.

GIDEON MEETS HIS FOE.

WHEN Gid Ketterell went out from the Mel-
verton place after his dismissal, he took the
brookside path below the bridge, and strode as
straight as the winding way would permit to
the clump of willows by the river, where Osk
Ordway usually kept his boat.
The boat was gone.
He 's off with the boys somewheres" Gid
muttered, casting impatient glances up and
down the placid stream out of his reddened and
sullen eyes. Never mind; I don't move from
this spot, all the same, till he comes in! "

There was a tree that pushed out so straight
from the group, before its top and branches
curved upward over the water, that trunk and
root together made a saddle-shaped seat. This
Gid bestrode; and with a twin trunk at his
back, forming an upright support, he found
himself in a comfortable position while waiting
for the boat. Comfortable as to his body, but by
no means so as to his state of mind. Savagely
angry with Osk, whom he blamed for his dis-
grace, and for the terrible suspicion that had
fallen upon him; almost as angry with himself
for having weakly yielded to Osk's influence
after he had been warned against it; afraid to
go home and fall into the hands of his mother
--agitated with these emotions he took no
thought of the quaint and gnarly old easy-chair
he sat on, nor of the pleasant, sun-flecked
shade flung over and about him, on the stream
and on the shore, from the long willow-boughs
swaying in the breeze.
The breeze fanned his hot brow; the water
rippled and sparkled in the sun; bees and
dragon-flies hovered over the water-lilies and
pickerel-weeds, and butterflies flitted along the
shore; turtles were sunning themselves on a half-
sunken log, and a kingfisher, springing his rattle
as he flew from a tree near by, poised a mo-
ment in the air, and then struck the wave with
a splash. But Gid Ketterell saw none of these
things. He took out his knife, and began to
whittle the trunk on which he sat, in the bark
of which many a previous jack-knife had carved
the rude initials of names he knew.
He was not even aware that he had a knife
in his hand. Behind his screen of boughs he
listened for voices, and looked up and down
the shore for the returning boat, thinking in-
tently of the bad thing that had happened to
him, what he ought to have done differently,
and what he was still to do and say when he
and Osk should meet once more face to face.
He hoped that would happen soon, before he
had time to get over his anger; for it was anger
alone, as he very well knew, that gave him
courage for the encounter.
"If I had only owned up when I had a
chance!" he said to himself. Why did n't
I? Why did n't I ? I 'd have done it, if I
had n't been afraid and ashamed to say how I

276

THE PRIZE CUP.

had let him impose on me -forcing his way
in, making me show him the cup, and drinking
the cider. Now see where I am! After I 'd
begun to lie, I could n't go back. Telling the
truth could n't have made it any worse for me;
I should have got turned off just the same. I
could stand that. But to be blamed for what
Osk did afterward! For it was Osk I know
it was Osk! "
He was musing in this way, though not in so

many words, when he .:.rr.I *.,:,:.- .,n- l Ilr
clank of oars, and presenlt .-, ,-k'- L.-.-
coming around a bend. 1I:1. i. IIt. r i i
steering, and a boy about -l-': -,.. tii .-. ..'
rowing, with his back turn.: ri .,. ;:r..l th. ..-lini.
of willows.
"It 's Dord Oliver," Gil:..i n ..1l1 ,- I":
peered through the brar.-lI. I i 1:. .-. :.
"I '11 wait till he gets our .. 1 rl-.: -.:., V.:
may laugh, Osk Ordway. i.io 'r i.. I I-..-: .:.t .,I
t' other side of your mouth *. .l.-n II .:kl. .1.1 '
The voices were pitched in a low key, but
sounds pass easily over the water, and soon Gid
could hear parts of the conversation. The
sound of his own name, uttered by Osk with a
derisive titter, was like the sting of a hornet.
"They 're talking about me!" he muttered,
holding himself stiff and still against the upright
trunk to keep from being seen.
Dord made some reply, but the words were
indistinguishable. Then Osk said:

Oh, yes, you can; he 's one of the sort
you can do almost anything with; you can
wind him around your little finger -at least,
I can! Only don't tell him I said I had seen
it; he made me promise not to."
"They're talking about the cup thought
Gid, stunned and breathless. He listened again,
as the boat drew nearer.
"I 'm afraid you won't get any cider," said
Osk; "for there was only one more bottle left.

"'THEY 'RE TALKING ABOUT ME,' HE MUTTERED."

I left that for manners. But you can make
him show you-mind, I don't say what."
If he meant the cup, he was talking as if
he believed it was still in the place where he
had seen it. Gid was bewildered by this sup-
posed assumption on the part of the suspected
thief, until he had rallied his wits a little.

z896.]

THE PRIZE CUP.

Meanwhile the boys ran the boat aground,
and began to throw out fish, which they counted
as they cast them on the shore.
It 's all make-believe," Gid reasoned. "He
thinks it 's time for the cup to be missed.
He knows I '11 accuse him, and he talks that
way so he can bring up a witness to prove that
he thought it was still in the house. But he
can't throw dust in my eyes -not very much "
By turning his head a little and looking back
he could watch every movement of the others;
while they might likewise have seen him if they
had not been so busy with their catch of fish.
After they had thrown these out and had stepped
out themselves, they made the boat fast to a stake,
within three paces of the ambushed Gideon.
"You divide 'em, while I 'm cutting twigs
to string 'em on," said Osk, looking up into the
willow branches, and advancing directly to-
ward Gid on the other side of his upright tree.
He was raising his hand to reach the hanging
branches beyond. Ough !" he ejaculated,
starting back as if he had chanced upon a wild
Indian in ambush. What in thunder Gid!"
Gid turned up at him angrily glowering eyes.
"What 's the matter with you ?" Osk de-
manded, quickly recovering from his surprise -
"stuck here in the crotch of the tree "
For sole response Gid continued to glare at
him threateningly. Osk perceived at once that
some untoward thing had happened. No
doubt Gid had overheard his talk with Dord;
well if it were nothing worse !
"Here 's Gid Ketterell," cried Osk, glum
as an oyster. I can't get a word out of him."
Osk Ordway," said Gid, without moving
from his seat, but keeping his fiery eyes on the
author of his woes, you '11 get words out of
me you won't like to hear, before we part com-
pany. I can wait until you string your fish
and let Dord get out of the way; for I guess
you '11 think it's as well to talk with me alone!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

OSK ORDWAY'S LITTLE FINGER.

ALL this Gideon said without faltering, but
a spasmodic catching of his breath made his
voice sound ominously thick and tremulous.

"Thunder and Mars Osk exclaimed. I
never saw you so mad in all my life. I did n't
know you could be so riled! If it 's anything
I 've done, I '11 make it all right."
Oh, yes!" Gid retorted. "I know you
will. I 'm one of the sort you can do anything
with I wind me around your little finger, can
you ? We '11 see about that! "
"That was all in fun," Osk said, trying to
turn off his embarrassment with a laugh. I '11
see you in a minute."
He cut two or three forked branches, and
turned to his companion on the shore.
That's all right, Dord," he said, seeing how
the fish had been divided. Take whichever
pile you please, and don't wait for me. I 've
got to have a little row with Gid here," lower-
ing his voice; "he 's pudgicky about some-
thing,-what I was saying to you, I suppose.
Keep dark about that thing, Dord! "
Osk busied himself stringing his own fish un-
til Dord was gone, then turned once more to
Gid, who got down from the tree-trunk and
stood confronting him.
Now what is it, Gid ? Osk asked in the
friendliest way.
"You know what it is!" Gid flung back,
his quivering features charged with wrathful
reproach.
My talk with Dord, I suppose," said Osk.
"But I don't see anything in that to raise your
porcupine's quills at me this way. A fellow
must have his joke. That 's all it was."
It ain't that, and you know it," replied the
implacable Gid. He still grasped his knife,
looking as if he might easily be tempted to
turn it into a weapon. Osk, who, like most
bullies, was not so intrepid as he wished to
appear, kept a wary eye on the blade.
"Why, Gid, you're out o' your head! you're
crazy, sure! he said, taking a step backward.
You '11 find out whether I 'm crazy or not,"
said Gid, growing more bold and menacing as
Osk showed a disposition to retreat. But as
he advanced, Osk stopped with a fire in his
eyes, and put up a warning hand.
Quit right there, Gid! he said, with his
chin out and his head thrust insolently forward
from his bent shoulders. I ain't going to
stand this nonsense talking to me that way

THE PRIZE CUP.

and threatening me! Put up that knife or I '11
throw it into the river,- and you after it."
"Better try it! Gid answered, defiantly.
" I '11 talk as I please, spite of your bluster and
pretended ignorance. I 've been turned off by
Fred Melverton,-kicked out,- accused of steal-
ing,- and all through you, Osk Ordway!"
"You don't say!" Osk exclaimed. I
never believed that would happen, and I 'm
awfully sorry. Did he miss the cider? "
Yes; and he missed something else, Osk
Ordway Gid leveled at him a terrible look,
and put the question Fred had put to him,-
"Where is that prize cup ?"
That prize cup Osk repeated, with real
or feigned astonishment. "You don't mean-"
"Yes, I do mean! The prize cup I was
fool enough to show you, and you were dishon-
est enough to steal! said Gideon.
You don't say that has been taken! You
left it in the drawer; I saw you," Osk said
rather weakly, as it seemed to Gid.
"And nobody else saw me," Gid retorted.
" Nobody else knew where to look for it. The
cider and the cup are the only things Fred has
missed. You know about the cider and you
know about the cup."
"Did you tell him that?" Osk inquired
quickly.
No, I did n't. But I wish I had. I had
denied touching the cider, or letting anybody
into the house. Then when he said the cup
had been taken, I could n't go back on my
word. I wish now I had," Gid repeated, with
bitter self-reproach.
He related all that had happened in his in-
terview with Fred, and again charged Osk with
the robbery. Osk laughed scornfully.
"The idea of my doing such a thing as that!"
he exclaimed. You don't really think I did,
Gid Ketterell. For my part," he went on,
without listening to Gid's indignant protesta-
tion, I don't believe the cup has been stolen.
I don't take any stock in that story. Fred is
bluffing you. He took it out of the drawer
himself, to give you a good scare, after he found
out about the cider."
"You think so ? Gid replied, shaken by the

plausible argument, and grasping at that straw
of hope.
No doubt of it," said Osk. Fred says to
himself, he says,' Two bottles of cider gone,' he
says; 'he 's had somebody in the house, and
now I '11 teach him a lesson.' See?"
No, I don't see! Gid muttered. He was,
however, more than half convinced that Osk
was right, and he wished to be wholly convinced.
"I don't believe he 'd have made a fuss about
the cider, if that had been all he missed; he
ain't that kind of a chap. Anyhow, it 's all
through you I 've lost the place."
"You '11 get taken back again," Osk assured
him. Only stick to your story, and soon as
he sees you 're not to be beat out of it, he '11
conclude he 's in the wrong."
"The cup is all I care for," Gid murmured,
his anger fast giving way before the wily in-
fluence of his betrayer. If I could only think
it was the way you say "
"I '11 bet my life on 't! Osk declared;
"but keep still about it, and you never 'll hear
from it again. As for the place, I 'm sorry;
but even if you don't go back, you '11 have a
better time this summer than if you 'd kept it;
you 'd have soon got sick of all that."
I suppose I should," Gid admitted; but
what will my mother say when she knows ?"
"She need n't know," said Osk. You can
go off every day just as if you were going to
Melverton's, and have all your time to your-
self. Would n't she like some of these fish ?
I '11 give you some to carry home; they '11
please her, and keep her from noticing anything
strange in your looks. Then I 've got some
schemes to let you into. You know we 've
always had good times together, Gid."
"But why did you talk about me that way
to Dord Oliver ? said Gid, with a last feeble
flaming up of his waning resentment. You
told him about my showing the cup."
"I never mentioned the cup! It was all
talk, anyway; a fellow must say something.
You know you and I are always good cronies,"
said Osk, completing again the process, which
he had boasted was so easy, of winding Gid
around his little finger.

You 'RE joking, sir! exclaimed Tom.
"Oh, no, I 'm not; I mean just what I say.
So far as I have been able to learn from our
landlord, you have no family or other ties to
bind you to this place; you are free to go and
come as you like."
"I suppose I am," the boy admitted.
"Well, I 'm heartily tired of traveling alone,
and I 'd like to have you with me; in the first
place because I 've taken a fancy to you, and
secondly because you are a mystery."
"A mystery! "
"Yes; you 're a long-lost son, you know.
Don't be offended; of course your private affairs
are none of my business, but in all my travels
I never before met a long-lost son, and you
can't guess how delightful a new sensation is to
a man of my years and experience."
I wish Zeb Pettibone would n't tell every-
body that comes along all about me," said
Tom, with flushed face.
"Don't be vexed," said the explorer, sooth-
ingly; I don't believe he would have told me
if I had not asked him. Now, to return to our
muttons, as the French say: You are, like all
boys, fond of adventure, and you '11 get lots
of it with me you know the sort of adventures
I meet with. You can be of a good deal of
assistance to me too: you can help pack my
valise, arrange our routes, and all that sort of
thing. I assure you I shall appreciate your
aid very much, for details have always bored
me dreadfully; and, to tell you the truth, I 'm
not the man I was two or three centuries ago.
Now what do you say ? Are we partners ? Yes
or no? "
"Yes," Tom replied promptly.
VOL. XXIII.-36. 2

Good! Shake hands on that! "
When they had shaken hands Sindbad said:
One of the objects of our travels shall be
to find your parents. You don't suppose you
had a fairy godmother, do you ? because
if you had, it will be a very easy matter. Try
to remember."
"Why, of course I had n't," replied Tom,
laughing; "there are no fairy godmothers now-
adays."
Are n't there, though ? said Sindbad, with
a mysterious wink. "Don't you be too sure
of that. But you, probably, did n't have one,
or you would have heard from her before this.
After all, you 're just as well off, for fairies are
very tricky. I know that to my cost -look at
these ragged trousers; it 's the fault of a fairy
that I 'm obliged to wear them at all."
How is that? asked Tom.
"Well, it 's a long story, and I won't try to
tell it all; suffice it to say that during one of
my later voyages I rendered a certain service
to a powerful and influential fairy, and in return
she granted me one wish."
"You did n't wish for those trousers, did you ?"
No; but I wished that whenever I put my
hand in my pocket I should find money.
That '11 be all right,' said the fairy; put your
hand in your pocket now.' I did so, and drew
out a gold coin. I 'm sure I 'm ever so much
obliged,' I said. I suppose this sort of thing
will continue indefinitely ?' 'It will last as
long as the trousers do,' replied the fairy, with
a peculiar laugh that I did n't like; and she
vanished. Well, I resolved at once, of course,
that I 'd take mighty good care of those
trousers. And I have done so, but you see
what they look like now. I 'm ashamed to be
seen in them, but what can I do ? "
Can't you find money in the pockets of any
of your other trousers ? inquired Tom.
Not unless I put it there."
81

SINDBAD, SMITH & CO.

"But see here," said the boy, "why don't
you fish out money enough from the enchanted
pocket to last you two or three weeks? You
could put it in another pocket, and then pack
away these trousers till you needed them again."
Sindbad shook his head sadly.
Don't you suppose I thought of that years
ago ? he said. I tried it a good while be-
fore you were born, but it would n't work."
Why would n't it? queried Tom.
"Because that fairy played a mean trick on
me. She always seemed fair and square, and I
should n't have thought it of her, but she did
it. I invariably find the money in the pocket
when I want it, but the trouble is-" and Sind-
bad lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced
apprehensively over his shoulder-" it does n't
last."
"Does n't last ? What do you mean, sir? "
"I mean that it dematerializes melts into
thin air, a few minutes after it leaves my pocket.
You 've no idea how much embarrassment that
has caused me. Only a short time after my
interview with the fairy I tried the plan you
just suggested. I filled one of my coat pockets
with gold coins, and in five minutes they had
disappeared, leaving nothing behind them but
their memory. Why, I 've paid the landlord
of this house twice, and the money has disap-
peared both times. The only way I ever man-
age to have any cash about me is to change
one of the gold pieces; the change does n't
disappear until I spend it. That 's why I got
Mr. Pettibone to give me those bills for a ten-
dollar gold piece."
"That looks a little like obtaining money
under false pretenses," said Tom, bluntly.
Sindbad's face flushed.
No, it does n't, either," he said. I did n't
pretend anything; I just gave him the eagle,
and it was all right when it left my hands.
It 's all the fairy's fault, anyhow; if anybody
is guilty of false pretenses, she is."
But Mr. Pettibone is the loser, just the
same," suggested Tom.
Well, are you going to keep harping on
that subject all day ? asked Sindbad, irritably.
"That enchanted pocket is my only means
of support, and I 'm far too old to work.
What would you have me do?" and he rose

and began pacing the piazza, while his face
was red and angry.
Tom made no reply. He had read, only a
few days before, that it was usually impossible
to admire distinguished persons, except at a
distance; that when one approached them too
closely one was likely to experience a shock;
and he reflected sadly that this statement was
but too true of Sindbad.
The color upon the sailor's face soon died
away. Pausing abruptly, and fixing his blue
eye appealingly upon the boy's face, he said:
You must admit, anyhow, that there are ex-
tenuating circumstances in my case."
Tom could not help being melted by that
glance; he began to think he had judged Sind-
bad too harshly.
"Yes, of course there are, sir," he replied.
"But why did you tell Mr. Pettibone you
could n't give him another gold piece, when
you say that you are able to produce them
by the hundred ? "
Well, you are a hair-splitter," said Sindbad.
"But I '11 answer your question: I don't believe
in throwing away money, no matter how great
my resources. Pettibone has been paid twice
already, and his bill was exorbitant in the first
place. But come, I don't propose to stand
here arguing with you all the afternoon. Do
you wish to go into partnership with me, or
do you not ? "
"I do," replied Tom, promptly.
Very good; as Sindbad, Smith & Co., Ex-
plorers, we may, and I believe we shall, achieve
wonders that will eclipse all my former exploits.
I 've been thinking of taking a partner for sev-
eral centuries; but somehow I never got about
it, never found exactly the right person. I
believe I have now, however; and you ought
to feel highly honored by my preference."
Tom replied that he did feel honored, and
then asked:
But who is the Co.,' sir? "
"The Co.' at present is nominal," replied
Sindbad; "but we may run across some one
whom we shall wish to take into partnership
with us. If we don't, it will make no particular
difference. Sindbad, Smith & Co. sounds a
good deal better than Sindbad & Smith, any-
how; don't you think so ?"

SINDBAD, SMITH & CO.

"Yes, it does. What shall we do first, Mr.
Sindbad ?"
"Well, I don't know. I guess we 'd better
just drift along and wait for something star-
tling to turn up."
"But suppose nothing startling does turn
up ? suggested Tom.
I can't entertain such an absurd supposition
for a moment," said Sindbad. You have
read enough about me to know that something
must turn up if I start to go anywhere. Sup-
pose nothing turns up!' That makes me laugh.
He! he!"
You don't think my being with you will
make any difference, do you ? It might," said
the boy.
Bless you, no, my dear fellow!" replied Sind-
bad. "Why, my presence on any public con-
veyance is sure to bring on some sort of a ca-
tastrophe. It 's only once in a long while that
a vessel upon which I embark is n't wrecked;
and as for railroad trains--well, you know,
don't you, how I happen to be here ? "
You were in the great accident last Tues-
day, were n't you, sir ? asked Tom.
Yes; and I was the only person in my car
who was n't injured. Oh, you '11 have plenty
of excitement when you travel with me, my
lad."
Tom was silent; observing that his face wore
a rather dubious expression, Sindbad hastened
to add:
I don't think you need expect any trouble.
Of course I can't undertake to guarantee your
safety, but I have no doubt that the fact of
our partnership will be a great protection to
you. Naturally, you won't at first have the
same restful feeling in the midst of a tornado or
a shipwreck that I experience, but it '11 come
to you after a while. Why, I used to be half
scared out of my wits if a storm came up when
I had been a day or two at sea,- it makes me
laugh to think of it,- but now I don't enjoy a
voyage if I 'm not shipwrecked. You '11 feel
just the same in time."
I hope so."
"Oh, there 's not the shadow of a doubt
of it. But we must be getting ready to go.
When does the next train start?"
"In which direction ? "

In any direction; it 's all the same to me.
Have you any preference ? "
Well," hesitated Tom, I've always wanted
to go to New York."
We '11 go, then; but it's two hundred miles
from here, and there 's no telling how many
weeks it will take us to get there."
"Weeks!" laughed Tom. Why, the five-
twenty express is due in the city at ten o'clock."
Oh, yes, it 's dune then," said Sindbad, with
a look of awful meaning; but will it get
there then?-that 's the question; I shall
be on board."
"But trains that you ride on are n't always
wrecked, are they ? asked the boy, with some
uneasiness.
Well, once in a while there's an exception,"
replied Sindbad. But," he added hastily, we
must not waste any more time in idle talk.
You go and get ready for the journey, while I
pack my valise and make myself a little more
presentable"; and he bustled into the house,
followed by his bewildered partner.
The explorer occupied two of the best rooms
in the hotel. As he entered his parlor he said to
Tom:
"Make haste, my boy, for it 's nearly five
o'clock now."
The lad climbed up to his attic room and
packed his few belongings, wondering if it were
not all a dream.
When he returned to the piazza he found
Mr. Pettibone awaiting him.
Here yeou be, hey?" said the old man,
sourly. I 've been a-lookin' fer yeou. All
slicked up, ain't yeou ? What hev yeou got in
that bag ?"
"My clothes. I 'm going away with Mr.
Sindbad."
Yeou 're what ? cried the landlord.
Tom coolly repeated the statement.
B-but I wanted yeou tew go aout an' feed
the hosses," gasped Mr. Pettibone.
I can't do it; we 've got to catch the five-
twenty."
But see here, I wanted yeou tew stay here
an' dew chores fer me; I need a boy round
the place."
"You 're too late," replied Tom; "I 've
made other arrangements."

x896.]

SINDBAD, SMITH & CO.

I '11 give yeou a dollar a week an' yeour
keep," persisted Mr. Pettibone.
Can't do it. Besides, I heard you tell Mr.
Sindbad that I was an elephant on your hands,
and was n't good for anything."
"That 's what he said," laughed Sindbad,
suddenly emerging from the house. "The lad
has you there, landlord."
"So yeou 've hired him, hev yeou ? said
Mr. Pettibone.
Not exactly; we 're partners now."
Humph! Wa-al, I wish yeou joy o' yeour
barg'in."
"Thank you, landlord; I have n't a doubt
that Tom and I shall get
along admirably. Good
day." ,

of all colors; got 'em on my twentieth voyage,
and learned how to use 'em."
They had now reached the station, and the
five-twenty express was thundering in. Sind-
bad rushed to the window and purchased the
tickets; in another minute the first journey of
Sindbad, Smith & Co. was begun.

CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST ADVENTURE.
"THIS is n't the way I usually travel, and I
don't like it," growled Sindbad, as he seated
himself beside his partner. "It 's plebeian,

"Good day," added '
Tom, with a half mali- -_
cious grin; and the part- .- : -
ners walked away, leav- .-
ing Mr. Pettibone staring '
after them with wide-open ;.'.
mouth.
Sindbad had donned a '
stylish traveling-suit, and' '
seemed to be in the best -
of spirits.
I'm very glad I hap- : .
opened to run across you," '', -
he said; "I feel in my -
bones that we're going to J .
have lots of fun together. ,,
But I say, why did n't you
tell me that my eyes did -
n't match? When I got .-
up-stairs and looked in
the glass I was awfully ,
embarrassed to see one -
blue eye and one black."
SI d n l t m THE PARTNERS WALKED AWAY, LEAVING MR. PETTIBONE STARING AFTER THEM."
I did n't like to men-
tion it, sir," replied Tom. But"-with a that 's what it is; and I do detest anything
start-"they 're both black now!" low."
Oh, yes; of course I corrected the mistake Why, what 's the matter, sir? asked Tom,
as soon as I discovered it." who had been admiring the magnificence of his
"Then-then your left eye is a glass one, surroundings.
sir? hesitated Tom, fearful of offending his I always ride in a parlor-car," said Sindbad,
new partner. discontentedly; "and it 's rough for a man of
Glass? Nothing of the sort; it 's a real, my years to have to put up with inferior ac-
practical eye. I have an assortment of them, commodations like these. Some folks in my

284

SINDBAD, SMITH & CO.

position would make a great fuss, but I 'm not
one of that kind. I suppose I shall get used
to it before our journey is over. I 'll try to,
anyway."
"There 's a parlor-car on this train," said
Tom.
"I know there is, but I have n't money
enough to pay for seats in it. The fare was
more than I thought it would be, and I 've
only forty cents left out of the ten dollars Mr.
Pettibone gave me."
"But the magic trousers are in your valise,
are n't they, sir ? said Tom. "You might
slip your hand into the pocket, and-"
Of course they are not in the valise," inter-
rupted Sindbad, severely. I should think you
would have more sense."
"I thought -"
Never mind just now what you thought,"
said Sindbad, who seemed very much out of
sorts; but listen to me. Suppose an accident
happened to this train, and the enchanted trou-
sers were in the valise; and suppose I lost
the valise, as I probably should: then where
would I be? My only source of income would
be gone, and I should be obliged to begin life
over again which at my age is a more serious
thing than you seem to imagine."
And the explorer gazed resentfully at his
partner, who began to feel quite remorseful,
though he did not know exactly why.
Where are the trousers, sir ? he asked.
They 're where I can't very well get at
them just now. The fact is, I generally use
them as a chest-protector when I 'm traveling,
and they are utilized in that capacity now. I
have an ingenious way of folding them, and
I don't doubt that they have saved me many a
severe cold."
Tom murmured his admiration of Sindbad's
fertility of invention, but his compliments did
not seem to soften his irritated companion in
the least.
That 's all right," said the explorer; "but
we may have to travel four long, weary hours
in this exquisitely uncomfortable car, just the
same."
I have a little money with me," said Tom,
diffidently.
Oh, have you? cried Sindbad, his counte-

nance clearing up. "Why did n't you say so
before ? How much have you ? "
About four dollars and a half."
"Then we 're all right; we '11 have parlor-
car seats. Of course, as we 're partners, you
expect to contribute something to the ,cash
capital of the firm. I don't ask you to do a
great deal; but as I have already expended
nine dollars and sixty cents, I think you ought
to put in your four and a half dollars."
Tom, still a little embarrassed, expressed his
entire willingness to do so.
Spoken like the open-hearted lad I took
you for! said Sindbad. "And now let's go
right in and get our seats."
But Tom lingered.
"There's one thing I 'm kind of sorry about,"
he said sheepishly.
"What is it ? "
The money is nearly all in pennies and
nickels."
Tut! tut! said Sindbad, frowning. Why,
how is that ?"
"It 's some money I had been saving to get
a pair of skates this winter, and I put it away
just as I got it. I hate to count out in pen-
nies the two dollars that the parlor-car seats
will cost."
Well, there 's no help for it," returned Sind-
bad; so come along."
They marched into the parlor-car, at the
door of which they met the conductor, of whom
the explorer inquired:
Have you two good seats for my partner
and myself? "
"Just two left, sir. This way, please."
In a few moments Sindbad and Tom were
seated in two very comfortable chairs in the
center of the car.
"This is something like," said the explorer,
leaning back with a sigh of relief; "but it
does worry me to have to pay for these seats
in pennies."
"There are some nickels," said Tom, depre-
catingly.
They 're not much better than the pennies.
Where is the money ? "
In my bag."
"Well, get it out as quick as you can, and
make up two rolls of a dollar each,--in nickels

SINDBAD, SMITH & CO.

if you can,- and inclose them in paper. Too
late I here 's the conductor now."
As the official paused before Sindbad, the
great explorer, assuming an indolent air, said:
Pay the man, Thomas, my lad. It 's really
too much trouble to get my money out. How
much is it, sir ? "
Two dollars," the conductor replied.
"I leave all these little details to Thomas.
Thomas, where is the money?"
I '11 get it, sir "; and Tom began nervously
fumbling at the lock of his bag, which recep-
tacle he presently opened, and drew therefrom
a tin bank.
"We must break it open, sir," he said. I
guess you '11 have to do it. I don't believe my
hands are strong enough."
By this time the eyes of every one in that
part of the car were upon them. With red,
angry face, Sindbad began work upon the bank.
If you 'd only told me it was sealed up in
this way, I 'd have remained in the other car,"
he hissed in his junior partner's ear. "This is
awfully embarrassing good gracious "
The explorer had miscalculated the amount
of force needed to open the bank; it had sud-
denly burst open, and its contents were scat-
tered in every direction.
Two or three of the passengers laughed out-
right, several others tittered, and nearly all the
rest grinned. The conductor stood scowling
and muttering impatiently, while .the two ex-
plorers scrambled about the floor for the fugi-
tive coins.
It happened that the train was going over a
particularly rough bit of road at the time, and
the partners had hard work to recover their
capital. Sindbad twice fell at full length; and
Tom, when in the act of rising with a handful
of pennies, was precipitated into the lap of an
irritable old lady, and his money was' again
strewed upon the floor.
"Really, sir," said a stout gentleman, upon
whose feet Sindbad had come down rather
heavily, this is absurd. Why don't you pay
the fare and let your boy's pennies go ? "
"My motives do not concern you, sir," re-
plied Sindbad, redder and angrier than ever;
but you shall know them. I desire to incul-
cate principles of economy in the mind of this

lad. I want him to appreciate the value of
money, and to that end I gladly sacrifice my
own personal ease."
And that of every one else in the car," said
the stout gentleman. I '11 pay your fare my-
self if you '11 keep off my feet."
I refuse your offer with scorn, sir! returned
Sindbad, hotly. "Thomas, pick up the nickel
over by that lady's left foot."
I '11 come back in half an hour," said the
conductor, and he stalked away.
A few minutes later all the coins that could
be found were collected in Tom's hat.
"Now, we '11 count them," said Sindbad;
"or, rather, I will. You hold the hat, and
don't you drop it, if you value your peace of
mind."
Then the explorer counted out the coins,
watched closely by all his fellow-passengers.
There proved to be three hundred and thirty-
seven cents and nine nickels.
Only three dollars and eighty-two cents,"
said Tom, with a long face; "and I know
there were four dollars and a half in the bank.
I 'm sure there are a lot of pennies under that
old lady's chair on the other side of the aisle.
Shall I wake her up, and ask her to let me look
for them?"
"Don't you dare do anything of the sort,"
said Sindbad, in a low, fierce tone. Have n't
I been humiliated enough already? Have
you no sense of shame ? Just make two rolls,
of one dollar each, of these pennies, and don't
offer any more idiotic suggestions."
Tom, greatly crestfallen, proceeded to obey
his partner. When the conductor returned, the
money was ready for him.
I 'm not obliged to take these pennies," he
said gruffly; "but I '11 do it this time."
He fiercely punched a number of holes in
two tickets, which he thrust into Sindbad's
hand, adding:
The next time you travel in my car, sir, I 'd
be obliged if you 'd provide yourself with a dol-
lar bill or two."
Sindbad leaned back in his seat, muttering:
In all my fifteen hundred and twenty-one
voyages I was never so humiliated before! I,
Sindbad, the world's most famous explorer,
laughed at by a car full of idiots, and bullied

286

690o.J SINDBAD, SMITH & CO. 287
by a common conductor! This partnership Well, then," said Sindbad, with the air of a
business I 'm convinced is n't by any means martyr, I have only myself to blame, and I
what it 's cracked up to be!" won't complain any more. I did think, when
Tom felt crushed. I first saw you -but it 's no matter."

.TT _- :''-' -2 --i .'--_: __ -

S:i
- -. ---- .' it -- .II

"TOM WAS PRECIPITATED INTO THE LAP OF. AN IRRITABLE OLD LADY."

"Never mind, sir," he said, with a feeble at-
tempt at consolation; "maybe there will be a
horrible accident before long."
No such luck," grumbled Sindbad. "This
is what I get for associating myself with an
amateur explorer. Amateur explorer! Why, I
begin to think that you 're not even that! You
never explored anything in your life, did you ? "
Tom acknowledged sadly that he never had.

"I 'm doing the best I can, Mr. Sindbad-"
Tom began.
Oh, I don't doubt that! interrupted the
explorer. Say no more, I beg of you."
I shall get used to your ways after a while,
and then maybe things will be different," ven-
tured the junior partner, timidly.
"Maybe," replied Sindbad; but, to be hon-
est with you, I 'm afraid they won't be. This

SINDBAD, SMITH & CO.

seems to be a case of niisplaced confidence; or
perhaps I ought to say, poor judgment. I 'm
willing to take all the blame on myself, you
see; I always was magnanimous, and I suppose
I always shall be. But this business reminds
me painfully of my experience with Hindbad;
I don't like to say so, because I know it hurts
your feelings, but I must, really."
Then the explorer sighed deeply and closed
his eyes.
Tom sat silent and crestfallen for a long
time. He keenly felt his unworthiness to asso-
ciate so intimately with a man of Sindbad's
eminence, and he heartily wished himself back
in Oakdale.
And I '11 go back, too," he said to himself,
"and go to work for Zeb Pettibone. This
partnership might as well be dissolved first as
last. I don't seem to take to the exploring busi--
ness as I thought I would, and I suppose Sind-
bad will be glad to be rid of me. He's awfully
short-tempered, anyhow; and I don't believe
we would get along very well together. Then
it would be very monotonous, too; for I 'm sure
no accident will ever happen while I 'm- "
His soliloquy was cut short by a sudden
shock which threw him from his chair. All the
lights were extinguished; then Tom felt the car
turn over and fall down-down-down.
It was with a feeling almost of relief that he
reflected that an accident had actually hap-
pened; he knew how pleased Sindbad would
be. He was about to call out to the explorer
when his forehead came in violent contact with
some hard object, and his senses left him.
Ah coming to, are you ? were the first
words he heard when he recovered his con-
sciousness. Now is n't this perfectly delight-
ful ? It really seems like old times, does n't
it ? But I forget, you were not with me in the
old Bagdad days."
We 're in a boat, are n't we ? said Tom,
rather weakly. I can't see anything."

It 's a rather dark night," replied Sindbad;
"but the moon may be up before long. Yes,
we are in a boat a flat-bottomed rowboat.
You see, the train ran off the track and dropped
from a high bridge into a river. Several boats
shot out from the shore, and this one shot right
to the spot where I was swimming, with you
under my left arm. We were hauled on board,
and here we are. Do you think you are much
injured ? "
"No; my head hurts a little, that 's all,"
said Tom, straining his eyes in a vain attempt
to distinguish the forms of their rescuers, of
whom he knew by the sound of the oars there
were at least two. "Where are they taking us,
sir ? "
"Ah, that remains to be seen," answered
Sindbad, in a mysterious voice. "This is no
ordinary boat, my lad."
Less noise there said a voice out of the
darkness a deep, hoarse, harsh voice, the very
sound of which made Tom quake.
Don't be alarmed," whispered Sindbad in
his ear; it 's just this sort of thing that we 're
looking for." Then in a loud tone he said, ad-
dressing the unseen oarsman: "That's all
right, my friend; my partner and I were just
saying how very kind it was of you to take all
this trouble on our account."
"Well, you keep quiet, that 's all," replied
the unseen.
"I hardly think you know who I am, my
good fellow," said the explorer, the tones of
his voice showing the annoyance he felt. My
name is Sindbad G. W. Sindbad, formerly of
Bagdad."
Don't you good fellow' me," was the re-
sponse, uttered in an angry tone. I know
who you are well enough; and let me tell you,
you are in the biggest scrape of your life -one
that you won't get out of in a hurry."
"Is n't this great ? whispered Sindbad in
Tom's ear.

(To be continued.)

288

MONDAY IN KITTEN-LAND.

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THE LAST ONE IN.
289

YoL. XXII.-37.

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HEMMED IN WITH THE CHIEF.

BY FRANK WELLES CALKINS.

MY father was one of the earliest settlers in
Western Iowa. He kept a fur-trading store up
where old Fort Meade now stands, in the early
'40's, and the Ponca-Omahas, whose villages
were some miles above, did considerable trading
with him.
They were a peaceable, friendly lot; and
after I returned from school at Detroit, I be-
came well acquainted with some of the chiefs
who came to bring furs in exchange for goods.
Among these Indians was old VWa-sah-be Jin-
ghe (Little Black Bear), or Little Bear, as we
used to call him, a sociable old fellow. He
could talk English fairly well for an Indian,
and was a man of consequence in his tribe.
It was in the second year after my return
from school, that I arranged with Little Bear
to go with his band on a fall buffalo-hunt. I
was then seventeen or thereabouts, fond of
hunting, and of a wild life.
We set out in September, more than a hun-
dred men, women, and children, myself the
only white person in the outfit. I drove a
team of horses to a light wagon. Little Bear
also had a wagon, as had two or three others;
but most of the Indians used pack and saddle
ponies, with the usual travois-poles dragging
behind. We drove a herd of hunting-ponies.
In fact, we represented the motley and bar-
barous appearance of Indians on the move.
It was yet early for the buffalo to begin to
move southward from the upper Missouri; and
though several scouts were on the alert each
day, we sighted only two or three considerable
bunches during the first week. We succeeded in
surrounding one band, and killed about thirty.
It was exciting while it lasted-a kind of mixed
melee in which racing, plunging, shooting, and
yelling indulged one's taste for adventure to the
fullest extreme. After the hunt, the meat was
cut up and carried to camp by the squaws, who

had followed at a distance, while we hunters -
some fifty of us rode ahead with a tremen-
dous flourish.
Upon this first hunt I killed one young bull.
I kept a small hump steak, the tongue, and
hide, and, cutting the rest into about equal
parts, gave one to each head of a family in
the band. This earned for me the name of
Was/iushe, meaning good or generous,"
by which I was known among the Omahas
ever after that.
It was the next morning after this hunt that
the chief, Little Bear, came to my tent, just as
I had finished my steak, biscuit, and coffee.
He brought two wolfskin disguises, which I
had before seen in his tepee. Each was made
of two wolf-pelts sewed together, with mounted
nose and tail, and there were arm-holes with
short skin sleeves, and leggings for the thighs,
which came nearly down to the knees, the
whole covering fastened to the body with deer-
skin thongs.
He had before promised to take me on a
"wolf-hunt" after buffalo, and he now put on
the largest of the coverings, and manoeuvered
about in front of my tent, showing the various
attitudes of the wolf, in shambling along, in
trotting, and in sneaking upon its prey.
His squaw, who was wielding her wevajaba
(fleshing-knife) upon an upturned buffalo-pelt
pinned to the ground with wooden pegs, stopped
her work and grinned approval. He certainly
mimicked the wolf well: and the disguise, ex-
cepting the legs and the size, was perfect.
Hoogh! he said, when he had shown me
how to act in crawling up to game, "we go
hunt um tewan that way"; pointing to the north-
west up the creek.
I was glad to go upon a still-hunt; for, to tell
the truth, the mixed hurly-burly of the usual
Ponca method, and its useless dangers, did not

HEMMED IN WITH THE CHIEF.

recommend it to me when I had had time to
reflect after the excitement was over.
When Little Bear and I mounted our ponies
and rode out that morning, the camp was in an
uproar, as usual in the preparation for a hunt.
A scout had come in with news of a big herd
to the eastward, and the Indians were running
in ponies, saddling and cinching them on all
hands, and there was much bucking and plung-
ing among the wild and skittish ones, as usual.
Squaws were hustling about at the command
of their lords and masters, and young lads, in
half-leggings and short shirts, were rushing to
and fro, making a great parade of helping to get
the hunters started.
Little Bear must have told his leaders of the
proposed hunt with me, for no one paid the
slightest attention to our going out.
We jogged directly up the little valley for an
hour or more; and then, in rounding a point of
the hill, sighted a large band of buffalo feeding
among the ravines, and upon the slopes on the
opposite side of the valley. There was an im-
mense number in sight, but, as the high grounds
were covered as far over as we could see, we
knew there must be more beyond.
Little Bear grunted with huge satisfaction,
and gave me to understand in hurried words
of Ponca and pigeon English that the big herds
were coming down from the north.
We hustled our ponies into a ravine near at
hand, and tied them to some bull-berry bushes.
Then, carrying our disguises and guns, the
chief with his bow and arrows at his back, we
slipped down the ravine into the creek channel,
keeping entirely out of sight of the herd. The
wind was fairly in our favor, and we kept along
the bed of the stream, in which ran a little
trickling brook at the bottom, until we reached
the mouth of a dry run leading across the valley
and through the middle of the herd. There
were such runs and ravines cutting back into
the hills every half mile or so.
Up this gully we went at a jog-trot, bending
low, until it became so shallow that we could
begin to see the buffalo upon the hills above.
The chief then squatted and motioned me
down. We put on the wolf-skins, he taking
the largest; for, despite his name, he was a
large and powerfully made man.

Adjusting the eye-holes so that we could see
plainly, we crawled out upon the open ground
upon our hands and knees. Almost the first
thing that happened to me was to get one of
my knees filled with cactus spikes; and while
I writhed about trying to pull them out, I heard
Little Bear growling under his breath, "Hoogh!
tewan heap plenty we kill heap! "
He had steered clear of the cactus. As soon
as the pain would let me look about me, I saw
that we were, indeed, in the midst of a heap "
of buffalo. The hills on both sides were now
freckled with them, some feeding and some
lying down; while up the ravine the high lands
swarmed with them as far as one could see.
On both sides of the run there were half a hun-
dred buffalo, perhaps, scattered about close at
handsome of them withinbow-shot. These last,
which were cropping the feather-grass, stopped
occasionally to gaze curiously at our advance.
We shambled slowly along, the chief in front,
and evidently determined to crawl into the very
midst of the herd before beginning execution.
We passed within a dozen yards of a big bull,
who snorted at our advance and shook his huge
shaggy head angrily. Then he followed us and
began to paw the ground and bellow in a
hoarse, muttering note. Glancing over my
shoulder I noticed that he was even threaten-
ing attack. Little Bear, too, had halted, and
was looking back, I thought, uneasily; but he
moved on again when the bull came no closer,
while I, imitating his wolfish movements as
closely as possible, followed after him. I saw
that the groups of buffalo were growing more
numerous on all sides, and a score of them
were coming toward us with their shaggy fronts
lifted. My heart thumped hard against my ribs
with excitement.
Let 's shoot some of them," I whispered.
At that instant a number of the bulls began to
bellow, and to throw dirt with their hoofs.
Their noise and stir started a herd down
the nearest hill, and we saw a host of them
come tearing down the slope, with long, lung-
ing jumps, some of them flinging their heels
and tails high in the air, jumping sidewise, and
bawling in a mad, freakish way, just as cattle
sometimes plunge down a hill, half in play,
half in a state of nervous excitement. There

HEMMED IN WITH THE CHIEF.

was now a perfect bedlam of noise, and clouds
of dust were rising on all hands. The chief
motioned to me to shoot.
I carried a short, thick-barreled buffalo-gun-
it was before the days of breech-loaders which
threw an ounce and a half slug. I aimed
at a bull some fifty feet away, who offered a
broadside shot in his pawing. The heavy ball
knocked him off his feet, and the next moment
he was at the last gasp.
The chief also fired his rifle, with what effect
I did not see, for our shots did not startle even
the nearest animals, so great was the noise of
their own bawlings, and so thick the cloud of
dust they had raised. A mad craze seemed
suddenly to have possessed the whole herd, for
a great crowd had pressed down out of the
ravine, and hundreds were plunging down the
bluffs. The situation had suddenly become
startling and dangerous.
The chief, in alarm, sprang to his feet, and
threw the wolf-skin from his head. I did the
same. He had evidently counted on scatter-
ing the buffalo, and frightening them off by our
first shots.
Instead, a tumbling mass of them had gath-
ered about the animal which I had shot, and,
excited to greater frenzy than ever by the
smell of blood, were filling the air with hoarse,
deep, quavering roars, which made the ground
tremble under us.
The dust from the multiplying numbers
which surged in toward us, pervaded as it was
with alkali, set me into a paroxysm of sneezing
and coughing in spite of my intense alarm. It
now enveloped us in so thick a cloud that we
could practically see nothing. Suddenly the
chief seized me by the arm. Come," he said,
we go quick! and we started at a run. We
dodged hither and thither to get out of the way
of plunging, bawling animals, many of which
lunged past within arm's reach.
The dust had grown continuously thicker, and
my eyes, filled with the smarting alkali, failed me
utterly before we had run fifty yards. I was again
seized by a violent fit of coughing and sneezing.
I shouted to Little Bear, between my cough-
ings, that I could not see. He answered only,
We go quick-- quick and keeping a tight

grip upon my arm, jerked me this way and
that, as we rushed ahead.
But, active and powerful as he was, he could
not save me in my blindness from collision. I
was hit by one of the huge animals, and knocked
over. The creature struck me on the left side,
and I was wrenched from the chief's grasp,
and sent rolling over and over in the dust. In
fact, I was knocked breathless, half-stunned,
and could not have arisen at once of my own
accord. I should have been run over and
crushed but for the chief. As it was, I just
had sense enough to know that I was jerked
from the ground, tossed upward and borne
forward upon his shoulders.
He ran like a deer, carrying me as if I had
been a papoose, jumping and dodging this way
and that, among the throng of animals, whose
rumbling tread sounded in my ears like the
muttering of thunder.
Twice he was run into and thrown, and we
both measured our full lengths; but he was on
his feet again in an instant, and, lifting me as
before, darted ahead, seemingly unhurt. How
he managed to keep his eyesight and his bear-
ings in that choking cloud, and among that ex-
cited mass of animals, is, and always will be, a
mystery to me.
But he did it.
He carried me out of that bellowing, crazy
crowd of animals, and set me upon my feet
upon the hill above them, giving utterance
to a huge grunt of satisfaction when he found
that I could stand.
When I had rubbed the dust out of my eyes,
somewhat, I saw him grinning humorously at
me. The herds had rolled on across the valley,
and were going over the opposite hills.
Undoubtedly I owed my life'to Little Bear,
and I was grateful to him. On returning to
the buffalo which I had killed, we found my
rifle with stock and locks badly broken and
crushed; the gun was ruined; and even the
tough carcass of the dead animal had been so
trampled as to be almost beyond recognition.
There was plenty of exciting work after this,
and we killed many buffalo in our wolf-skin
disguises. But we were careful thereafter not
to be caught in the midst of charging herds.

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HE RAN IEL A DEER, CARR.Y\ING -IL AS IIF I 14.AD BIEEN A I 'I'OOSL.

HOW THE FLAG WAS SAVED.
(A Story with two sequels. A second sequel to The Fairport Nine.")

By NOAH BROOKS.

A SEQUEL is a continuation of a story; it is
a second story that comes after another one, to
add to it what could not be told in the first
place. But a story that I once told the readers
of ST. NICHOLAS is a story with two sequels.
Fifteen years ago, as certain grown-up people
may remember, I wrote for the readers of
ST. NICHOLAS, who are now the grown-ups, a
story called "The Fairport Nine." It was all
about a party of boys who had a base-ball club
in Fairport, Maine, and who made of them-
selves a little company of soldiers. In the
story, they played base-ball matches with the
"White Bears," a rival company of boys; and
they paraded as a militia company, with a fife
and drum and flag. It was this flag that made
it possible to have sequels to the story of" The
Fairport Nine," as you shall hear.
The boys in "The Fairport Nine" were real
boys, and I was one of them. We lived in the
town of Castine, Maine, and I merely changed
the name of that dear old town to Fairport
when I wrote the story. And when I told
how a flag was presented to us, as a company,
by some of the grown-up girls of the village,
and how I, as the standard-bearer of the Fair-
port Nine, received the flag, and made a little
speech in reply to the grown-up girl who pre-
sented it, I was telling only what actually hap-
pened so many years before. The boys'
company paraded with the flag in 1840; the
story was printed in ST. NICHOLAS in 1880
-forty years afterward.
Seven years after the story was printed, I
found the copies of the written speeches de-
livered by the standard-bearer and by the young
lady who presented the flag to us. For, as I
was the little standard-bearer, then aged ten
years, the written speeches, now yellow with
age, had been kept in the family through all
these years. Meanwhile, as the years were
spinning away into the dim and far-away past,

the boys of that small militia company had growr
up and had taken their part and lot in life; and
most of them had done their whole duty by
their country when the country needed help.
So, in 1887, seven years after the story of
"The Fairport Nine" had been printed in
ST. NICHOLAS, I wrote the first sequel of that
tale, in which was related the finding of the
papers on which were written the speeches
made when the flag was presented; and I
took that opportunity to tell something about
the boys who had grown to be men and
had profited by the lessons they received in
their native town of Castine so many years
before. That sequel was printed in ST. NICH-
OLAS in March, 1887, nine years ago, and was
entitled "A Lesson in Patriotism."
In the course of time, as we grew up, the
boys' company of militia paraded no more;
but the flag presented to us was kept in my
custody as standard-bearer of the Fairport
Nine." When it disappeared, I do not know;
but after a while, when I looked for it, it could
not be found; and, as other things more im-
portant to a growing boy than a boys' flag
began to come into my life, I forgot all about
it.
And yet, it was a very beautiful flag at
least, we thought so. It was made of white
cotton cloth, and was four feet long and two
feet wide. In an oval line on that flag were
set twelve red stars; and in the middle of the oval
were three stars, two blue and one red. The
flag was bordered with a bright red worsted
fringe which came from the cabin curtains of
the good ship Canova," built on the Penob-
scot River, in 1823, and owned in Castine.
When the ship was refitted in our port, about
the time of which I am writing, the cabin fur-
nishings were changed, and the big girls who
made our flag were allowed to take the curtain-
fringe; and, having beautified the flag with

HOW THE FLAG WAS SAVED.

that, they further decorated it with a red cord
and two handsome tassels, which, after many a
foreign voyage in the cabin of the Canova,
were fastened on the flagstaff of the Fairport
Nine, and dangled in the breeze, making a
very brave show indeed.
I do not believe that any real soldier in the
ranks of any army looks upon the flag of his
regiment proudly fluttering over his head with
greater pride than that with which we boys
looked on the white flag with its group of red
and blue stars.
And yet, when
it disappeared.-
from my bed-
room, where "
it was safely -..,--
laid away, no-
body missed it
until it had .
been gone for S J.
a long time.
The truth is
that the sports ..p..
of childhood .
had been left
far behind in
the real battle
of life.
But about a
yearago avery THE FLA
strange thing happened. The pastor of the
village church lives in the house that was
formerly owned and occupied by the father
of two of my playmates. Neither of those
boys was a member of the Fairport Nine,
however; one of them was older than any
of us, and the other was much younger than
any of us. Their father has been dead sev-
eral years, and the present tenant of the house
in which the boys had lived had occasion to
make some changes inside of the building.
One day, while removing some of the laths
and plastering of a partition, the good pastor
was considerably surprised to find in the space
between two walls of lath-and-plaster a folded
bundle of cloth. He drew it forth from its
hiding-place, and shook out its dusty folds. It
was the long-lost flag of the Fairport Nine!

Was n't this a famous find? And how did
the pastor know that he had found the flag of
the Fairport Nine? He had read in ST.
NICHOLAS a description of the flag, as it was
written and put into a picture in 1887, and he
knew it as soon as he saw it; and his children,
living in the town where the Fairport Nine had
flourished in 1840, had read the story as it was
printed in 1880, and the sequel as it was printed
in 1887. I suppose they will read this other
sequel when it is printed in 1896, although they

G OF THE AIRPORTT NINE."
are now young ladies, as big as the big girls
that gave us the flag in 1840, and which is
now so wonderfully restored to the writer, who
was the standard-bearer.
The flag of the Fairport Nine is still in a
good state of preservation, although its colors
are faded and its white field is yellow with
old age. It hangs in the study of the old man
who carried it so proudly fifty-six years ago,
when he was a very small boy. And as he
looks on its faded folds, and recalls the names
and lives of those who marched under the fly-
ing colors so long ago, he remembers with
thankfulness that every one of the little sol-
diers has done his whole duty by his country,
and that some of them were permitted to give
to their beloved land the last offering that man
can give life on the field of battle.

- ,
" "" '-" -
I ^ ., ., _____

TWO BOYS-THE ELDEST HARDLY TWELVE-WITH TRAIN OF MEN AND GUARDS,
WHO WALKED WITH HEAVY TREAD AROUND THE MIGHTY WALLS AND WARDS."

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THE Lord Lieutenant's daughter, a little maid of ten,:
-. .- .
On Tower Green she played at ball, beloved by Tower men;

Made her, in all her bright attire, the pink of little girls.-- -
'- .- 1.-c_-

Beyond their rusty bars, it made a sunlight on the green.
-1 ,- --
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BY ANNA ROBESON BROWN.

THE Lord Lieutenant's daughter, a little maid of ten,
On Tower Green she played at ball, beloved by Tower men;
Her merry face, beneath its coif of silk and string of pearls,
Made her, in all her bright attire, th e of tte pigirls.
For every stately guardsman she had a gentle word,
And often in the barrack-room her prattling voice was heard;
While, to the prisoners' weary eyes, whene'er her head was seen
Beyond their rusty bars, it made a sunlight on the green.
Bess to her mother clung in fear as thro' the Traitor's Gate
'Twixt many a line of armed men two prisoners passed in state:
Two boys the eldest hardly twelve -with train of men and guards,
Who walked with heavy tread around the mighty walls and wards;
Grim, scowling men who did not cry, as some were wont to do,
"Good-morrow, little Mistress Bess! How fares the world with you ?"

One day Bess crept from home by stealth; she took her simple toys
Into a shady courtyard nook, well hid and far from noise.
And while she played she glanced about, and saw above her head
A deep cut window in the wall, its bars with rust grown red,
Grasping at these, two children's hands. Two pairs of merry eyes
Looked down from neathh the flaxen locks, and laughed at her surprise.
"Who are you, maid? a quick voice cried, imperious and gay.
Bess Brackenbury, please, fair sir; I only came to play.
My father's Lord Lieutenant here; hlie keeps the Tower keys,
And guards the prisoners safely. But who are you, sir, please? "
VOL. XXIII.-38. 297

THE TOWER PLAYMATES.

Then quoth the blue-eyed boy, still bent
above the rusty sill,
"I would the Lord Lieutenant had others
at his will!
Stay, child; that daisy pluck for me-a grass-
blade anything!
Within these walls no token comes of winter

or of spring.
Some day I '11 sure requite
you-I am a royal
king!"

Now English maids are
loyal as English
hearts are free;
So, "Yea, my liege! quoth
little Bess (a court-
bred maid was she!);
She made a sweeping
courtesy,- her care-
ful mother's pride,-
And plucked the daisy
daintily, its curling
leaves beside.

Alas! too far above her
head the straining
hands were set;
And though on tiptoe high
she stood, no nearer
could she get.
And so the blue-eyed boys
above, the brown-
eyed maid below,
Stayed many a minute
chattering till little
Bess must go.
Day after day the rusty
grate by boyish hands
was pressed,
Day after day the court-
yard nook rang loud
with chat and jest,
Until dear friends the chil-
dren grew; all state
was laid aside,-
Edward was Ned," and

Richard Dick,"

Bess Brackenbury should be his Queen, and
never maid but she!

Thus days and weeks sped quickly by; each
hour was full and fair.
One day Bess to the window came, and no
two heads were there.

She waited till the noonday sun shone hot
on Tower Green;
She waited till the sunset-gun- till the new
moon was seen.

and Bess "the Royal Bride"!
For Edward vowed, if e'er released from
prison cell was he,

298

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THE TOWER PLAYMATES.

Her mother hunted wildly with many a sob
and cry:
"Oh, woe this day for England's babes if three
fair children die! "
But Bessie lingered, sobbing; she listened
neathh the grate;
Cried first, It is too early and then, It
is too late!"

She sat upon the cold, gray stones, and
hugged the precious toys
Which she had brought to show her friends,
who had no kindred joys !
She waited, hungry, weary; when, sudden, to
the spot
Her father- wild-eyed, white-faced, trem-
bling-handed, hoping not-
Came, and caught her to his bosom. Oh,
naughty daughter Bess!
What art thou doing in this place so far
from our distress ?"

Poor Bessie on his shoulder sobbed out her
hidden pain.
"Oh, father dear, they did not come; I waited
long in vain! "
But when he heard the story, he turned away
his face;

I~i

She might not see the sudden tears that
crept and dropped apace.
"They will not come again, my Bess; thy play-
mates are not there;
And England's coming years shall mark this
day for England's prayer!
Thy playmates wait for thee, my dear; and
some day thou shalt know
How every loyal English heart shares in thy
childish woe! "

Bess wondered, did not understand, wept for
her friends full sore;
And gladly in her mother's arms saw home
and bed once more.

But still, in long years after, to her grand-
child on her knee
She told the same old story of the Tower
playmates three;
The little 'prisoned princes, her friends and
comrades dear;
And their wicked Uncle Crookback," whose
crimes caused many a tear.
While often, when the fire-light rose, some
wondering youngster said,
" Grandmother, tell the story of the King with
whom you played!"

i I
,1

_ ~ ~I__ __ ~

299

B* II '
~-- I
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^g^^ "l^N^

A DREAM IN FEBRUARY.

BY MARGARET JOHNSON.

COME to me, my precious Polly,- put away
that tiresome dolly;
Let me tell you what I dreamed here in my
chair beside the door:
Such a dream!-the day befitting; for I dozed
while you were sitting
Counting up your Valentines, dear, in the
sunshine on the floor.

Now what can a gruff old. codger like myself,
your crusty lodger,
Have to do with youth and romance, "loves
and doves," and holidays?
Can you look at me, unwinking, and declare
you are not thinking
Some such disrespectful thought, Miss, with
your wide, transparent gaze ?

Yet to me, gray-haired and stooping as I am,
from Dreamland trooping,
Fair as when they first wore blushes (you may
doubt me if you please!),

All the pretty Mauds and Marys of a hun-
dred Februaries
Came a-tripping, dancing, curtsying, bright as
blossoms in a breeze--

Every damsel for whose wooing ever came a
missive suing
In the golden words of good St. Valentine's
enchanted art:
Every maid at whom the cunning Cupid, on
his errands running,
Ever on this day in elfin mischief aimed his
airy dart.

There was Marian, tall and stately, pacing
down the room sedately,
With her stiff brocade and satin brushing
Chloe's muslin gown;
There was Nell, the farmer's lassie, fresh from
fields and pastures grassy;
Proud Inez, and Sue, the sailor's sweetheart,
with the sea-winds brown.

I-_
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i 31
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PIe
~I
r

A DREAM IN FEBRUARY.

Moll, the milkmaid, buxom, blowzy, with her
curly locks all frowzy;
Sweet Priscilla, looking shyly from her rosy,
quaint calash;
Saucy Mab, romantic Celia, dove-like Ruth,
and grave Cornelia,
Bashful Bess, and Kate, her black eyes kindling
with a roguish flash.
Maids from castle, cot, and kitchen, rustic
Joan, and Gertrude, rich in
Bygone splendors, high, historic, of an ancient
place and time;
And a modern girl from college, turning from
her hoarded knowledge
To peruse, with eyes of laughter, some one's
brave but halting rhyme.
Such a stir of garments flowing, ribbons flying,
ringlets blowing;
Such a clicking, gay and quick, in dancing steps,
of high-heeled shoes!
Such a rain of glances, pettish, tender, trust-
ful, arch, coquettish,-
How among that bevy could a poor bewil-
dered bachelor choose?
My old eyes were dazzled fairly. Sure, so
bright a vision rarely
Even upon this day of wonders may a mor-
tal man behold.
And I loved them all. Nay, Polly, never
look so melancholy;
For the strangest part, and sweetest, of my
story is not told.

II,,

P!, ,:,

As I gazed, in look and feature of each
pretty, blushing creature
Something-here 's the marvel-slowly I
began to recognize.
Under bonnet, hood, or wimple, every face
with smile and dimple
Bent my Polly's gaze upon me, looked at me
with Polly's eyes!
Clad in modern garb or olden, black her
hair, or brown, or golden,
Still each little maid my Polly's own beloved
likeness wore.
In a hundred forms,- each sweeter than .the
last, I turned to greet her,
And awoke -to see you sitting in the sun-
shine on the floor!
Ah, my sweetheart, did the seeming of my
all-unconscious dreaming,
After all, but prove the power of Love's in-
imitable art?
And does every loyal lover in all faces fair
discover
But the one, the face beloved, that is mirrored
in his heart ?
Is there something in all loving, laughing eyes
their kinship proving-
Some sweet, common look forever of all love
the seal and sign?
Or--but there, we will not quarrel! Kiss me,
dear; I '11 skip the moral.
Take me, Polly, for your ancient but devoted
Valentine!

When the leaves are gone, the birds are gone,
And 't is very silent at the dawn.
Snowbird, nuthatch, chickadee,-
Come and cheer the lonely tree !

IWhen the leaves are gone, the flowers are gone,
Fast asleep beneath the ground withdrawn.
Flowers of snow, so soft and fine -
Clothe the shivering branch and vine !

"WHEN the leaves are gone, where are they
gone ? was once asked me by an intelligent
child.
"Let us go and see," I answered.
So my young questioner and I set forth on a
tour of investigation. It was a sunshiny after-
noon, the last day of November. First, we
went through the orchard, where a few scatter-
ing leaves still clung to the gnarly branches.
And the ground was as bare as though a thou-
sand thousand leaves had not sunned and aired
themselves, and drunk the sweet dew, in pleas-
ant comradeship, all spring and summer. But
as we came to the zigzag fence of rails, which
bounded the orchard, we found that the broom
of the wind had swept into the fence-corners
the missing leaves, where they rustled under
our feet, and whispered mysterious things.
From the orchard we went down the lane
and into the woods, stopping to examine what-
ever interested us by the way. In places sure
to be shielded from the cold winds of late au-
tumn, we found blue violets, the foster-chil-
dren of old November, who had strayed away
from their own dear mother, May. There were
also dandelions along the lane, some in bloom,

and some gone to seed. The blossoms would
be only one inch from the ground, while the
feathery seed-balls would be as high again,
showing that the stem had grown after the
flower ceased blooming. Bright as were the
flowers, they grew so near the ground that we
thought they shrank away as though they had
seen the whip of winter lifted to strike them;
and, indeed, it was the cold that caused them
to be so stunted. And yet, so brave and hardy
is the dandelion, that one will find scattered
blooms about the pastures even in late Decem-
ber, and the shining seed-balls hugging the
ground so closely that they might be taken for
silver luck-pennies.
We stopped to look at the downy content of
that sober plant, the mullen. Many plants had
the central leaves folded continuously one about
another, until a sort of large, gray-green bud was
formed; and in one of these buds a bee was
taking an afternoon nap, snugly sheltered from
the air, which was growing somewhat chilly.
We thought that any prudent insect might find
a comfortable winter-home by asking the mul-
len to open its velvet leaves just a little, and
then to fold them tightly around the wanderer!
And while we were speaking, a bluebottle fly
went humming past us, as if to say he had no
mind yet to be asking shelter of any one!
By a still, sunshiny pool, we noticed the
handsome stonecrops as they seemed to wade
from the margin into the water. They were a
rich coral-red, showing off well among the faded
weeds and withered rushes. We found life-
everlasting still fragrant when we crumpled it
in our hands; and we thought the dry, silvery

WHEN THE LEA

calyxes of the asters almost as pretty in their
star-shapes as the flowers themselves had been;
while the goldenrod now stood with its still
gray plumes in all the angles of the fence. We
had also to notice what surprised us not a little
- that all the berry brambles had gathered
along their red stems a whitish bloom, some-
thing like that which covers the purple of ripe
grapes, or the crimson of the peach. We
thought this white coating might have been in-
tended as a sort of furry protection against the
coming cold of winter.
The border of the woods wore a sleepy look
of contentment, as if there all were quite ready
for winter. We found the clematis trailing over
low shrubs and weaving in and out among the
thickets. Like the goldenrod in its old age,
the clematis had put on silvery plumes in place
of flowers, and we bore away with us for deco-
rations at home some of the graceful festoons
of this vine. Still more ambitious than the
clematis was the greenbrier (a species of smi-
lax), which had gone climbing quite above our
heads, and had suspended its clusters of small
green-black berries, which might have been
supposed to be fairy grapes, and which we
hoped some late-lingering bird would find and
eat, on a hungry winter morning now not far
away. And while we were saying this, a num-
ber of little people in gray and black, as fantas-
tic as makers, came fluttering into the nooses
of the clematis and greenbrier. "Dee DEE !
DEE! what do you here, coming without per-
mission into our territory ? There are not so
many words in the chickadee language, but
such as there are are most expressive, and we
soon beat a retreat. Not long after we en-
tertained ourselves by playing hide-and-seek
around a great tree-trunk with a nuthatch.
Now, the nuthatch has the advantage of his
cousin the woodpecker in one respect-he can
go around the trunk of a tree head downward
as well as in the upright position; and he was,
on this occasion, full of quick and cunning
ways.
While still not far in the woods, we came
to a dear, hospitable nook under a protecting
bank, where a tinkling spring, descending to
meet a quiet stream, kept the mosses green,
though it was so near frosty December. As we

VES ARE GONE. 303

listened to the gentle music of the spring,-
"tinkle, tinkle,"- the same notes came re-
peated from a distance to us. We had to
think twice before we decided that what we
heard was the sound of sheep-bells in a pasture
some fields away. Then we said that, for those
who listen well, the various voices in nature -
both living and unconscious voices--have
much that is in common; and my sweet
child-comrade told me how she had once
heard a sparrow singing like a running brook
as he perched on a willow branch, close by!
As we wound along the little woodland
stream that slipped so softly by we could
scarcely hear it, we saw what had become of
hosts and hosts of leaves of all varieties. The
little stream had drowned them without a
murmur; and now they lay, brown, red, and
amber, on the shallow bed, looking brighter
than when they fluttered, dry and rustling,
along the ground. There were great leaves
of the sycamore (which must be a thirsty tree,
since it is so often found by running water),
leaves broad as a giant's hand, brown as leather,
and with the smell of wet leather. There were,
also, large grape-vine leaves, with curious pat-
terns wrought upon them by some insect -
scallops and scrollwork and fantastic zigzag
lines. There were dark-red oak-leaves, many
of which had round little balls growing upon
them; and in every ball was the egg of an
insect called the gall-fly. Then we recalled
how the stately wands of the goldenrod which
we had noticed in the lane would often have a
round, very hard woody growth in the middle
of the stem. This, too, was a winter home -
the cradle of a grub that would become in
time a gauzy-winged fly.
But we had come to find out, when the
leaves are gone, where they are gone. Wher-
ever there was a slight hollow in the woods, it
would be so filled up with leaves as to be level
with the higher ground; and we would often
heedlessly go over our ankles in the brown drifts;
and wherever was an old hollow stump, there
the leaves would be stored -much as though
some tidy gardener had found this means of dis-
posing of them. No wonder, with such a com-
fortable coverlet above them, the seeds are
kept warm and alive, so that when spring

WHEN THE LEAVES ARE GONE.

comes these old stumps sometimes show us
lovely miniature gardens. "Yes," I said to my
little friend, "you may call the leaves nature's
patchwork quilt, which she tucks down cozily
around her darlings when they first go asleep,
so that they need never be chilled."
"If the old leaves could only know how much
good they do, I should think it would make
them very happy, and they would n't mind so
much having to leave their homes on the trees,"
returned my bright young comrade.
But now the wind began to rise, and the
bare tree-tops to sigh all together, and strange,
small noises here and there to cause us to look

about, to discover if any one was coming be-
hind us. There would be danger of falling
branches, or of some old tree itself falling if the
wind should blow hard; and so we must be
gone. As we made our way out, far through
the maple aisles, sunward, we saw the leaves in
great quantities suddenly lifted on the wind.
Just for a moment they seemed like bright
shifting sands, or like the ripples of a yellow
stream flickering in the sunshine. We knew
that when the wind ceased to blow one might
know which way it had blown; for the leaves
would be left pointing in one direction, stems
side by side, and the tips of the leaves likewise.

LETTERS TO A BOY.

By ROBERT Louis STEVENSON.
WITH NOTES BY LLOYD OSBOURNE.

[Begun in the December number.]

LETTER VIII.
MY DEAR HOSKYNS: I am kept away in a
cupboard because everybody has the Influenza;
I never see anybody at all, and never do any-
thing whatever except to put ink on paper up
here in my room. So what can I find to write
to you? You, who are going to school, and
getting up in the morning to go bathing, and
having (it seems to me) rather a fine time of it
in general ?
You ask if we have seen Arick ? Yes, your
mother saw him at the head of a gang of
boys, and looking fat, and sleek, and well-to-
do. I have an idea that he misbehaved here,
because he was homesick for the other Black
Boys, and did n't know how else to get back
to them. Well, he has got them now, and I
hope he likes it better than I should.
I read the other day something that I thought
would interest so great a sea bather as yourself.
You know that the fishes that we see, and catch,

go only a certain way down into the sea. Be-
low a certain depth there is no life at all. The
water is as empty as the air is above a certain
height. Even the shells of dead fishes that come
down there are crushed into nothing by the
huge weight of the water. Lower still, in the
places where the sea is profoundly deep, it ap-
pears that life begins again. People fish up in
dredging-buckets loose rags and tatters of crea-
tures that hang together all right down there with
the great weight holding them in one, but come
all to pieces as they are hauled up. Just what
they look like, just what they do or feed upon,
we shall never find out. Only that we have
some flimsy fellow-creatures down in the very
bottom of the deep seas, and cannot get them up
except in tatters. It must be pretty dark where
they live, and there are no plants or weeds, and
no fish come down there, or drowned sailors
either, from the upper parts, because these are
all mashed to pieces by the great weight long
before they get so far, or else come to a place
where perhaps they float. But I daresay a

LETTERS TO A BOY.

cannon sometimes comes careering solemnly
down, and circling about like a dead leaf or
thistledown; and then the ragged fellows go and
play about the cannon and tell themselves all
kinds of stories about the fish higher up and their
iron houses, and perhaps go inside and sleep,
and perhaps dream of it all like their betters.
Of course you know a cannon down there
would be quite light. Even in shallow water,
where men go down with a diving-dress,
they grow so light that they have to hang
weights about their necks, and have their boots
loaded with twenty pounds of lead-as I know
to my sorrow. And with all this, and the hel-
met, which is heavy enough of itself to anyone
up here in the thin air, they are carried about
like gossamers, and have to take every kind of
care not to be upset and stood upon their
heads. I went down once in the dress, and
speak from experience. But if we could get
down for a moment near where the fishes are,
we should be in a tight place. Suppose the
water not to crush us (which it would), we
should pitch about in every kind of direction;
every step we took would carry us as far as if
we had seven-league boots; and we should
keep flying head over heels, and top over bot-
tom, like the liveliest clowns in the world.
Well, sir, here is a great deal of words put
down upon a piece of paper, and if you think
that makes a letter, why, very well! And if
you don't, I can't help it. For I have nothing
under heaven to tell you.
So, with kindest wishes to yourself, and Louie,
and Aunt Nellie, believe me,
Your affectionate UNCLE Louis.
Now here is something more worth telling
you. This morning at six o'clock I saw all the
horses together in the front paddock, and in
a terrible ado about something. Presently I
saw a man with two buckets on the march, and
knew where the trouble was-the cow! The
whole lot cleared to the gate but two-Donald,
the big white horse, and my Jack. They stood
solitary, one here, one there. I began to get
interested, for I thought Jack was off his
feed. In came the man with the bucket and
all the ruck of curious horses at his tail. Right
round he went to where Donald stood (D) and
poured out a feed, and the majestic Donald ate
VOL. XXIII.-39.

it, and the ruck of common horses followed the
man. On he went to the second station, Jack's,
(J in the plan) and poured out a feed, and the
fools of horses went in with him to the next

!Jx /
4x /

b b*

place (A in the plan). And behold as the train
swung round, the last of them came curiously
too near Jack; and Jack left his feed and
rushed upon this fool with a kind of outcry,
and the fool fled, and Jack returned to his feed;
and he and Donald ate theirs with glory, while
the others were still circling round for fresh
feeds.
Glory be to the name of Donald and to
the name of Jack, for they had found out
where the foods were poured, and each took
his station and waited there, Donald at the first
of the course for his, Jack at the second
station, while all the impotent fools ran round
and round after the man with his buckets !
R. L. S.

[Mr. Stevenson tells in the next letter how the
demon "Tu" took up his quarters in the stable,
and made things very lively for Mr. and Mrs.
Talolo. Samoans believe that all sickness comes
from the evil influence of such bogies.
The Soldier Room," as it was called, in
which Talolo and his wife took refuge from
the demon Tu, was where Mr. Stevenson and
I used to play a very interesting game with
tin soldiers. We called it the war-game," or
"kriegspiel," for it was much the same as the
mimic campaigns played by German officers in
Europe. It was the most elaborate game I
ever heard of, and the longest, for sometimes
a single war lasted two months. A map was
drawn on the floor, with rivers, mountains,
towns, and roads all marked in different-colored
chalk, and the two antagonists, with foot-rules,
pen, and paper, and some five hundred tin
soldiers apiece, occupied the territory assigned
them. Everything was calculated to day's-

LETTERS TO A BOY

marches, and in some proportion to real life.
Infantry marched ten inches a day on roads,
cavalry eighteen inches, or twelve when hin-
dered by light cannon, while the heavy artillery
crawled along at the rate of three inches a day.
The range of infantry fire, when unaccom-
panied by cannon, was twelve inches; the range
of cannon was eighteen inches; and the num-
ber of shots was regulated by the number of
regiments of four tin soldiers each. Thus an
army of forty regiments, with heavy artillery,
would be permitted forty shots; or eighty shots
if it possessed two heavy cannon. The firing
was managed by means of a little spring-gun
loaded with duck-shot pellets. A single pellet
was the plain infantry or cavalry shot; two
pellets the light-artillery charge; six pellets the
heavy artillery. I must say that if Mr. Steven-
son usually out-manceuvered me by his brilliant
combinations and dashing play, I was a deadly
marksman with the spring-gun.
The evolutions of the mimic armies were
nicely calculated to scale, while the question
of provisions and ammunition was met by little
tin dies that had to be expended in propor-
tion to the amount of firing or marching.
Four tin dies a day was the price of heavy
artillery's existence, and two for light cannon;
and for every shot fired a single die had to
be paid back to the base. The dies were
brought back again in carts" which held
twenty dies apiece, and very often an army
would get woefully short from want of fore-
sight and thrift in this department. When an
army could no longer meet its daily expenses,
it had to desert its guns and carts on the road,
and scatter in every direction; then the enemy's
cavalry would get after it, and take every man
prisoner who was within shooting range.
The game began by covering the ground
with bits of paper, on which was written the
strength of the force they represented. Then a
week might be spent in little cavalry skirmishes
by which both sides would try to "uncover"
the other's paper and learn his dispositions.
If you beat in the enemy's outposts, he had
to tell you whether he was in force or not -
that is, whether he had more or less than five
regiments, with or without artillery. It used
to be very exasperating sometimes to fail in

uncovering these slips, and find half-way through
the game that you were still in the dark.
Perhaps you might be scared into massing
troops to hold a bit of paper in check that
stood for nothing at all
The weather, too, was not neglected, and like
the real article in the real world it played an
important part in a campaign; for sometimes
the troops could march only half distances, and
the heavy guns would be absolutely blocked by
stress of rain or snow at most critical periods
of the war. The big battles were very exciting,
and many difficulties had to be overcome in
order to succeed, or to minimize defeat; the
reserves had to be sufficient, the weather good,
the army well provisioned and supplied, the
lines of communication well guarded, so that
they might not be cut by a sudden cavalry
rush, and regiments must be stationed at
bridges to blow them up in case of a disaster.
But one was often compelled to fight under
unfavorable conditions, for perhaps an innocent-
looking piece of paper that you treated with
contempt would blossom out into a vast force.
Occasionally two opposing bits of paper would
bluff each other through an entire game, and
materially alter its whole character.
When your army was five times greater than
the enemy's fighting-line taken together with
twice his reserves, he had to surrender without
a shot. But in order to achieve this you had
to tell him how many regiments you possessed,
and unless they were sufficient to make him sur-
render, he did not have to tell you anything
about his own strength. Thus you took the
risk of his knowing your entire force without
getting any corresponding advantage. In fact,
secrecy was such an essential part of the game
that you would often not take the full num-
ber of shots you were entitled to in order to
keep the enemy in the dark. Out of every
three soldiers knocked over, two were plumped
into the dead box," and one taken home'to
the base, from which he marched out again,
in company with resurrected men like himself,
to reinforce weak points and add still more to
the uncertainty of the war.
It was indeed a most delightful game, and we
used to play it day after day with unfailing zest,
until our knees would ache and our backs get

306

LETTERS TO A BOY.

MATAUTU, EASTERN END OF APIA, SAMOA.

sore with the stooping and kneeling. In only
one way did it fail to correspond to real war-
fare, and that was in the persistent and un-
shaken courage of our tin heroes. We tried to
remedy this defect with the dice-box, making
a rule that when three fours were thrown the
army was to be seized with panic and retire a
full day's march, deserting its cannon and am-
munition. But the rule was soon given up, for
it was too heartbreaking to have one's most
skilful calculations upset by an unforeseen and
quite unnecessary panic. The uncertainty of
the weather was trying enough to a commander,
without bothering him with unexpected routs,
though it must be confessed that three fours
are sometimes thrown on real battle-grounds.
I could write a great deal more about the
game, were there space enough at my disposal,
for I have done nothing more than outline its
general character. Its ingenious and complex
rules would fill a small volume.- L. 0.]

IX. FROM UNCLE LouIs.
VAILIMA.
MY DEAR AUSTIN: Now when the overseer
is away I think it my duty to report to him
anything serious that goes on on the plantation.

Early the other afternoon we heard that Sina's
foot was very bad, and soon after that we could
have heard her cries as far away as the front
balcony. I think Sina rather enjoys being ill,
and makes as much of it as she possibly can;
but all the same it was painful to hear the cries;
and there is no doubt she was at least very un-
comfortable. I went up twice to the little
room behind the stable, and found her lying
on the floor, with Tali and Faauma and Ta-
lolo all holding on different bits of her. I gave
her an opiate; but whenever she was about
to go to sleep one of these silly people would
be shaking her, or talking in her ear, and then
she would begin to kick about again and scream.
Palema and Aunt Maggie took horse and went
down to Apia after the doctor. .Right on their
heels off went Mitaele on Musu to fetch Ta-
uilo, Talolo's mother. So here was all the is-
land in a bustle over Sina's foot. No doctor
came, but he told us what to put on. When
I went up at night to the little room, I found
Tauilo there, and the whole plantation boxed
into the place like little birds in a nest. They
were sitting on the bed, they were sitting on the
table, the floor was full of them, and the place
as close as the engine-room of a steamer. In

z896.]

LETTERS TO A BOY.

: 4

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AND MEMBERS OF HIS HOUSEHOLD AT VAILIMA.
From a photograph never before published.

the middle lay Sina, about three parts asleep
with opium; two able-bodied work boys were
pulling at her arms, and whenever she closed
her eyes calling her by name, and talking
in her ear. I really did n't know what would
become of the girl before morning. Whe-
ther or not she had been very ill before, this
was the way to make her so, and when one
of the work boys woke her up again, I spoke
to him very sharply, and told Tauilo she must
put a stop to it.
Now I suppose this was what put it into
Tauilo's head to do what she did next. You
remember Tauilo, and what a fine, tall, strong,
Madame Lafarge sort of person she is ? And
you know how much afraid the natives are of
the evil spirits in the wood, and how they
think all sickness comes from them ? Up stood
Tauilo, and addressed the spirit in Sina's foot,
and scolded it, and the spirit answered and
promised to be a good boy and go away. I

do not feel so much afraid of the demons after
this. It was Faauma told me about it. I was
going out into the pantry after soda-water, and
found her with a lantern drawing water from
the tank. "Bad spirit he go away," she
told me.
That 's first-rate," said I. Do you know
what the name of that spirit was? His name
was tautala (talking)." Oh, no!" she said;
"his name is Tut."
You might have knocked me down with a
straw. How on earth do you know that ? I
asked.
Hear him tell Tauilo," she said.
As soon as I heard that, I began to sus-
pect Mrs. Tauilo was a little bit of a ventrilo-
quist; and imitating as well as I could the sort
of voice they make, asked her if the bad spirit
did not talk like that. Faauma was very much
surprised, and told me that was just his voice.
Well, that was a very good business for the

LETTERS TO A BOY

evening. The people all went away because
the demon was gone away, and the circus was
over, and Sina was allowed to sleep. But the
trouble came after. There had been an evil
spirit in that room and his name was Tu. No
one could say when he might come back again;
they all voted it was Tu much; and now Ta-
lolo and Sina have had to be lodged in the
Soldier Room. As for the little room by the
stable, there it stands empty; it is too small to
play soldiers in, and I do not see what we can do
with it, except to have a nice brass name-plate
engraved in Sydney, or in Frisco," and stuck
upon the door of it: Mr. Tu.
So you see that ventriloquism has its bad
side as well as its good sides; and I don't
know that I want any more ventriloquists on
this plantation. We shall have Tu in the cook-
house next, and then Tu in Lafaele's, and Tu
in the workman's cottage; and the end of it all
will be that we shall have to take the Tamaitai's
room for the kitchen, and my room for the
boys' sleeping house, and we shall all have to
go out and camp under umbrellas.
Well, where you are, there may be schoolmas-
ters, but there is no such thing as Mr. irt!
Now, it 's all very well that these big people
should be frightened out of their wits by an
old wife talking with her mouth shut; that is
one of the things we happen to know about.
All the old women in the world might talk
with their mouths shut, and not frighten you or
me, but there are plenty of other things that
frighten us badly. And if we only knew about
them, perhaps we should find them no more
worthy to be feared than an old woman talk-
ing with her mouth shut. And the names of
some of these things are Death, and Pain, and
Sorrow. UNCLE LouIs.

Jan. 27, 1893.
DEAR GENERAL HOSKYNS: I have the
honor to report as usual. Your giddy mother
having gone planting a flower-garden, I am
obliged to write with my own hand, and, of
course, nobody will be able to read it. This
has been a very mean kind of a month. Aunt
Maggie left with the influenza. We have
heard of her from Sydney, and she is all right
again; but we have inherited her influenza, and

it made a poor place of Vailima. We had Ta-
ollo, Mitaele, Sosimo, Iopu, Sina, Misi Folo,
and myself, all sick in bed at the same time;
and was not that a pretty dish to set before
the king The big hall of the new house having
no furniture, the sick pitched their tents in it,-
I mean their mosquito nets,-like a military
camp. The Tamaitai and your mother went
about looking after them, and managed to get
us something to eat. Henry, the good boy!

r
7 I

S iu

r .- ,

'OLA VAILIMA. A SAMOAN BOY.
though he was getting it himself, did house-
work, and went round at night from one mos-
quito net to another, praying with the sick.
Sina, too, was as good as gold, and helped us

309

LETTERS TO A BOY.

THE PAPASEEA, A SAMOAN PICNIC.*

greatly. We shall always like her better. All
the time I do not know how they managed
- your mother found the time to come and
write for me; and for three days, as I had my
old trouble on, and had to play dumb man, I
dictated a novel in the deaf and dumb alpha-
bet. But now we are all recovered, and get-
ting to feel quite fit. A new paddock has
been made; the wires come right up to the top
of the hill, pass within twenty yards of the big
clump of flowers (if you remember that) and

by the end of the pineapple patch. The Ta-
maitai and your mother and I all sleep in the
upper story of the new house; Uncle Lloyd is
alone in the workman's cottage; and there is
nobody at all at night in the old house, but ants
and cats and mosquitos. The whole inside of
the new house is varnished. It is a beautiful
golden-brown by day, and in lamplight all
black, and sparkle. In the corner of the hall
the new safe is built in, and looks as if it had
millions of pounds in it; but I do not think
there is much more than twenty dollars and a
spoon or two; so the man that opens it will
have a great deal of trouble for nothing. Our
great fear is lest we should forget how to open
it; but it will look just as well if we can't.
Poor Misi Folo-you remember the thin boy,
do you not?-had a desperate attack of in-
fluenza; and he was in a great taking. You
would not like to be very sick in some savage
place in the islands, and have only the savages
to doctor you? Well, that was just the way
he felt. It is all very well," he thought, to
let these childish white people doctor a sore
foot or a toothache, but this is serious I
might die of this! For goodness' sake, let me
get away into a draughty native house, where I
can lie in cold gravel, eat green bananas, and
have a real grown-up, tattooed man to raise
spirits and say charms over me." A day or
two we kept him quiet, and got him much bet-
ter. Then he said he must go. He had had
his back broken in .his own island, he said; it
had come broken again, and he must go away
to a native house, and have it mended. Con-
found your back! said we; "lie down in your
bed." At last, one day, his fever was quite
gone, and he could give his mind to the broken
back entirely. He lay in the hall; I was in
the room alone; all morning and noon I heard
him roaring like a bull calf, so that the floor
shook with it. It was plainly humbug; it had
the humbugging sound of a bad child crying;
and about two of the afternoon we were worn
out, and told him he might go. Off he set.
He was in some kind of a white wrapping,
with a great white turban on his head, as pale as
clay, and walked leaning on a stick. But, oh, he
was a glad boy to get away from these foolish,
savage, childish white people, and get his broken

* See "Letter-Box."

310

LETTERS TO A BOY.

PROCESSION TO MEET VISITORS. SAMOA.

back put right by somebody with some sense.
He nearly died that night, and little wonder!
but he has now got better again, and long
may it last! All the others were quite good,
trusted us wholly, and stayed to be cured
where they were. But then he was quite right,
if you look at it from his point of view;
for, though we may be very clever, we do not
THE

set up to cure broken backs. If a man has
his back broken, we white people can do no-
thing at all but bury him. And was he not
wise, since that was his complaint, to go to
folks who could do more?
Best love to yourself, and Louie, and Aunt
Nellie, and apologies for so dull a letter, from
Your respectful and affectionate
END. UNCLE LOUIS.

IT IS THE

UNEXPECTED THAT HAPPENS.

BY E. W. KEMBLE.

iii

I.

" 'NOW, TOMMY, I VANT YOU TO DELIVER THIS TO MIR. JONES,
AND SEE THAT NOTHING HAPPENS TO IT."

- =T____________

BUT THE LITTLE BROWN BOY iS ARE DEEPLY INTERESTED
IN A THRIILLING BEAR SIORY, WHIEN--

S-

L

',

II.
TOMMY STARTS ON HIS JOURNEY, NOT WISHING TO
FRIGHTEN ANY ONE.

it If

I! 1

, i x "/./ v < ^ ....

-THE IIEAR APPEARS!

3-2

BETTY LEICESTER'S ENGLISH CHRISTMAS.

By SARAH ORNE JEWETT.

[Begun in the December number. ]

SIII.
HE days flew by until
Christmas, and the wea-
ther kept clear and
bright, without a bit of
rain or. gloom, which
Swas quite delightful and
wonderful in that nor-
thern county. The older
guests hunted or drove
or went walking. There
were excursions of every
sort for those who liked them, and sometimes
the young people joined in what was going
on, and sometimes Betty and Edith and War-
ford made fine plans of their own. It proved
that Edith had spent much time with the family
of her uncle, who was an army officer; and at the
Western army posts she had learned to ride with
her cousins, who were excellent riders and in-
sisted upon her joining them. So Edith could
share many pleasures of this sort at Danesly, and
she was so pretty and gay that people liked her
a good deal; and presently some of the house-
party had gone, and some new guests came,
and the two girls and Warford were unexpected
helpers in their entertainment. Sometimes they
dined down-stairs now, when no one was asked
from outside; and every day it seemed pleas-
anter and more homelike to stay at Danesly.
There were one or two other great houses in
the neighborhood where there were also house-
parties in the gay holiday season, and so Betty
and Edith saw a great deal of the world in one
way and another; and Lady Mary remembered
that girls were sometimes lonely, as they grew
up, and was very good to them, teaching them,
in quiet ways, many a thing belonging to man-
VOL. XXIII.-4o. 3'

ners and getting on with other people, that
they would be glad to know all their life long.
Don't talk about yourself," she said once,
"and you won't half so often think of your-
self, and then you are sure to be happy." And
again: My old friend, Mrs. Procter, used
to say, 'Never explain, my dear. People don't
care a bit.'"
Warford was more at home in the hunting-
field than in the house; but the young people
saw much of each other. He took a great
deal of trouble, considering his usual fashion,
to be nice to the two girls; and so one day,
when Betty went to find him, he looked up
eagerly to see what she wanted. Warford was
busy in the gun-room, with some gun-fittings
that he had taken to pieces. There was no-
body else there at that moment, and the winter
sun was shining in along the floor.
Warford," Betty began, with an air of great
confidence, what can we do for a bit of fun
on Christmas eve ? "
Warford looked up at her over his shoulder,
a little bewildered. He was just this side of
sixteen, like Betty herself; sometimes he seemed
manly, and sometimes very boyish, as happened
that day. I 'm in for anything you like," he
said, after a moment's reflection. What's on ?"
"If we give up dining with the rest, I can
think of a great plan," said Betty, shining with
enthusiasm. "There 's the old gallery, you
know. Could n't we have some music there, as
they used in old times ? "
My aunt would like it awfully," exclaimed
Warford, letting his gun-stock drop with a
thump. I 'd rather do anything than sit all
through the dinner. Somebody 'd be sure to
make a row about me, and I should feel like
crawling into a burrow. I '11 play the fiddle:
what did you mean?- singing, or what? If

BETTY LEICESTER'S ENGLISH CHRISTMAS.

we left it until late enough, we might have the
Christmas waits, you know."
Fancy said Betty, in true English fash-
ion; and then they both laughed.-
"The waits are pretty silly," said Warford.
"They were better than usual last year, though.
Mr. Macalister, the schoolmaster, is a good
musician, and he trained them well. He plays
the flute and the cornet. Why not see what
we can do ourselves first, and perhaps let them
sing last? They 'd be disappointed not to
come at midnight under the windows, you
know," said Warford, considerately. "We '11
go down and ask the schoolmaster after hours,
and we '11 think what we can do ourselves.
One of the grooms has a lovely tenor voice. I
heard him singing The Bonny Ivy Tree' only
yesterday, so he must know more of those other
old things that Aunt Mary likes."
"We need n't have much music," said
Betty. The people at dinner will not listen
long -they '11 want to talk. But if we sing a
Christmas song all together, and have the flute
and fiddle, you know, Warford, it would be
very pretty like an old-fashioned choir, such
as there used to be in Tideshead. We '11
sing things that everybody knows, because ev-
erybody likes old songs best. I wish Mary
Beck was here; but Edith sings -she told me
so; and don't you know how we sang some nice
things together, the other day upon the moor,
when we were coming home from the hermit's
cell ruins ? "
Warford nodded, and picked up his gun-stock.
I 'm your man," he said, soberly. Let 's
dress up whoever sings, with wigs and ruffles
and things. And then there are queer trum-
pets and viols in that collection of musical
instruments in the music-room. Some of us
can make-believe play them."
"A procession! a procession!" exclaimed
Betty. "What do you say to a company with
masks to come right into the great hall, and
walk round the table three times, singing and
playing? Lady Dimdale knows everything
about music: I mean to ask her. I '11 go and
find her now."
I '11 come, too," said Warford, with delight-
ful sympathy. I saw her a while ago writing
in the little book-room off the library."

T was Christ-
mas eve; and
all the three
young people
hadbeenmiss-
ing since be-
fore lunch-
eon in a most
e mysterious
manner. But
Betty Leices-
ter, who came
in late and flushed, managed to sit next her fa-
ther; and he saw at once, being well acquainted
with Betty, that some great affair was going
on. She was much excited, and her eyes were
very bright, and there was such a great se-
cret that Mr. Leicester could do no less than
ask to be let in, and be gaily refused and
hushed, lest somebody else should know there
was a secret, too. Warford, who appeared a
little later, looked preternaturally solemn, and
Edith alone behaved as if nothing were going
to happen. She was as grown up as possible,
and chattered away about the delights of New
York with an old London barrister who was
Lady Mary's uncle, and Warford's guardian, and
chief adviser to the great Danesly estates. Edith
was so pretty and talked so brightly that the old
gentleman looked as amused and happy as
possible.
He may be thinking that she's coming down
to dinner, but he '11 look for her in vain," said
Betty, who grew gayer herself.
Not coming to dinner? asked papa, with
surprise; at which Betty gave him so stern a
glance that he was more careful to avoid even
the appearance of secrets from that time on;
and they talked together softly about dear old
Tideshead, and Aunt Barbara, and all the house-
hold, and wondered if the great Christmas box
from London had arrived safely and gone up
the river by the packet, just as Betty herself had
done six or seven months before. It made her
a little homesick, even there in the breakfast-
room at Danesly,- even with papa at her side,
and Lady Mary smiling back if she looked up,
- to think of the dear old house, and of Serena

314

BETTY LEICESTER'S ENGLISH CHRISTMAS.

and Letty, and how they would all be thinking
of her at Christmas-time.
The great hall was gay with holly and Christ-
mas greens. It was snowing outside for the first
time that year, and the huge fireplace was full
of logs blazing and snapping in a splendidly
cheerful way. Dinner was to be earlier than
usual. A great festivity was going on in the
servants' hall; and when Warford went out with
Lady Mary to cut the great Christmas pasty and
have his health drunk, Betty and Edith went too;
and everybody stood up and cheered, and cried,
' Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! and God
bless you!" in the most hearty fashion. It
seemed as if all the holly in the Danesly woods
had been brought in- as if Christmas had never
been so warm and friendly and generous in a
great house before. Christmas eve had begun,
and cast its lovely charm and enchantment
over everybody's heart. Old dislikes were for-
gotten between the guests: at Christmas-time it
is easy to say kind words that are hard to say
all the rest of the year: at Christmas-time one
loves his neighbor and thinks better of him;
Christmas love and good-will come and fill the
heart whether one beckons them or no. Betty
had spent some lonely Christmases in her short
life, as all the rest of us have done; and perhaps
for this reason the keeping of the great day at
Danesly in such happy company, in such splen-
dor and warm-heartedness of the old English
fashion, seemed a kind of royal Christmas to
her young heart. Everybody was so kind and
charming.
Lady Dimdale, who had entered with great
enthusiasm into the Christmas plans, caught her
after luncheon, and kissed her, and held her
hand like an elder sister as they walked away.
It would have been very hard to keep things
from Lady Mary herself; but that dear lady had
many ways to turn her eyes and her thoughts,
and so many secret plots of her own to keep in
hand at this season, that she did not suspect
what was going on in a distant room of the old
south wing (where Warford still preserved some
of his boyish collections of birds' eggs and other
plunder), of which he kept the only key. There
was a steep staircase that led down to a door
in the courtyard; and by this Mr. Macalister,
the schoolmaster, had come and gone, and the

young groom of the tenor voice, and five or six
others, men and girls, who could either sing or
play. It was the opposite side of the house
from Lady Mary's own rooms, and nobody else
would think anything strange of such comings
and goings. Pagot and some friendly maids
helped with the costumes. They had practised
their songs twice in the schoolmaster's own
house at nightfall, down at the edge of the vil-
lage by the church; and so everything was
ready, with the help of Lady Dimdale and of
Mrs. Drum, the housekeeper, who would always
do everything that Warford asked her, and be
heartily pleased besides.
So Lady Mary did not know what was meant
until after her Christmas guests were seated, and
the old vicar had said grace, and all the great
candelabra were lit, high on the walls between
the banners and flags, and among the stag-horns
and armor lower down, and there were lights
even in the old musicians' gallery, which she
could see as she sat with her back to the painted
leather screen that hid the fireplace. Suddenly
there was a sound of violins and a bass-viol and
a flute from the gallery, and a sound of voices
singing the fresh young voices of Warford and
Betty and Edith and their helpers, who sang a
beautiful old Christmas song so unexpected, so
lovely, that the butler stopped half-way from the
sideboard with his wine, and the footmen stood
listening where they were, with whatever they
had in hand. The guests at dinner looked up in
delight, and Lady Dimdale nodded across at
Mr. Leicester because they both knew it was
Betty's plan coming true in this delightful way.
And fresh as the voices were, the look of the
singers was even better, for you could see from
below how all the musicians were in quaint cos-
tume. The old schoolmaster stood in the middle
as leader, with a splendid powdered wig and
gold-laced coat, and all the rest vore coats and
gowns of velvet and brocade from the old house's
store of treasures. They made a charming pic-
ture against the wall with its dark tapestry,
and Lady Dimdale felt proud of her own part
in the work.
There was a cry of delight from below as the
first song ended. Betty in the far corner of
the gallery could see Lady Mary looking up so
pleased and happy and holding her dear white

315

BETTY LEICESTER'S ENGLISH CHRISTMAS.

hands high as she applauded with the rest.
Nobody knew better than Lady Mary that din-
ners are sometimes dull, and that even a
Christmas dinner is none the worse for a little
brightening. So Betty had helped her in great
as well as in little things, and she blessed the
child from her heart. Then the dinner went on,
and so did the music; it was a pretty pro-
gramme, and before anybody had dreamed of
being tired of it the sound ceased and the
gallery was empty.
After a while, when dessert was soon coming
in, and the Christmas pudding with its flaming
fire might be expected at any moment, there
was a pause and a longer delay than usual in
the serving. People were talking busily about
the long table, and hardly noticed this until
with loud knocking and sound of music, old
Bond, the butler, made his appearance, with an
assistant on either hand, bearing the plum pud-
ding aloft in solemn majesty, the flames rising
merrily from the huge platter. Behind him
came a splendid retinue of the musicians, sing-
ing and playing; every one carried some pic-
turesque horn or trumpet or stringed instrument
from Lady Mary's collection, and those who
sang also made believe to play in the inter-
ludes. Behind these were all the men in livery,
two and two; and so they went round and
round the table until at last Warford slipped
into his seat, and the pudding was put before
him with great state, while the procession waited.
The tall shy boy forgot himself and his shyness,
and was full of the gaiety of his pleasure. The
costumes were all somewhat fine for Christmas
choristers, and the young heir wore a magnifi-
cent combination of garments that had belonged
to noble peers, his ancestors, and was pretty
nearly too splendid to be seen without smoked
glasses. For the first time in his life he felt a
brave happiness in belonging to Danesly, and
in the thought that Danesly would really be-
long to him; he looked down the long room at
Lady Mary, and loved her as he never had be-
fore, and understood things all in a flash, and
made a vow to be a good fellow and to stand
by her so that she should never, never feel
alone or overburdened again.
Betty and Edith and the good schoolmaster
(who was splendid in his white wig, and a great

addition to the already brilliant company) took
their own places, which were quickly found, and
dessert went on; the rest of the musicians had
been summoned away by Mrs. Drum, the
housekeeper, all these things having been
planned beforehand. And then it was soon
time for the ladies to go to the drawing-room,
and Betty, feeling a little tired and out of
breath with so much excitement, slipped away
by herself and to her own thoughts : of Lady
Mary, who would be busy with her guests, but
still more of papa, who must be waited for un-
til he came to join the ladies, when she could
have a talk with him before they said good-
night. It was perfectly delightful that every-
thing had gone off so well. Lady Dimdale had
known just what to do about everything, and
Edith, who had grown nicer every day, had
sung as well as Mary Beck (she had Becky's
voice as well as her looks), and had told Betty
it was the best time she ever had in her life;
and Warford had been so nice and had looked so
handsome, and Lady Mary was so pleased be-
cause he was not shy and had not tried to hide
or be grumpy, as he usually did. Betty liked
Warford better than any boy she had ever seen
except Harry Foster in Tideshead. They
would be sure to like each other, and perhaps
they might meet some day. Harry's life of
care and difficulty made him seem older than
Warford, upon whom everybody had always
showered all the good things he could be per-
suaded to take.
Betty was all by herself, walking up and
down in the long picture-gallery. There were
lights here and there in the huge, shadowy
room, but the snow had ceased falling out of
doors, and the moon was out and shone brightly
in at the big windows with their leaded panes.
She felt very happy. It was so pleasant to see
how everybody cared about papa, and thought
him so delightful. She had never seen him in
his place with such a company of people, or
known so many of his friends together before.
It was so good of Lady Mary to have let her
come with papa. They would have so many
things to talk over together when they got
back to town.
The old portraits on the wall were watch-
ing Miss Betty Leicester of Tideshead as she

316

BETTY LEICESTER'S ENGLISH CHRISTMAS.

walked past them through the squares of moon-
light, and into the dim candle-light and out to
the moonlight again. It was cooler in the
gallery than in the great hall, but not too cold,
and it was quiet and still. She was dressed in
a queer old pink brocade, with its old lace, that
had come out of a camphor-wood chest in one

twinkling lights of a large town. Lady Mary
did not say anything more, but her arm was
round Betty still, and presently Betty's head,
with the mass of powdered hair, found its way
to Lady Mary's shoulder as if it belonged
there. The top of her young head was warm
under Lady Mary's cheek.

of the storerooms, and she still held a little old-
fashioned lute carefully under her arm. Suddenly
one of the doors opened, and Lady Mary came
in and crossed the moonlight square toward her.
"So here you are, darling," said she. I
missed you, and all the ladies are wondering
where you are. I asked Lady Dimdale, and she
remembered that she saw you come this way."
Lady Mary was holding Betty, lace and lute
and all, in her arms, and'then she kissed her in
a way that meant a great deal. Let us come
over here and look out at the snow," she said
at last, and they stood together in the deep
window recess and looked out. The new snow
was sparkling under the moon: the park stretched
away, dark woodland and open country, as far
as one could see; off on the horizon were the

Everybody is lonely sometimes, darling,"
said Lady Mary at last; "and as for me, I am
very lonely indeed, even with all my friends,
and all my cares and pleasures. The only
thing that really helps any of us is being loved,
and doing things for love's sake; it is n't the
things themselves, but the love that is in them.
That 's what makes Christmas so much to all
the world, dear child. But everybody misses
somebody at Christmas time; and there 's no-
thing like finding a gift of new love and un-
looked-for pleasure."
"Lady Dimdale helped us splendidly. It
would n't have been half so nice if it had n't
been for her," said Betty, softly; for her Christ-
mas project had come to so much more than
she had dreamed at first.

317

BETTY LEICESTER'S ENGLISH CHRISTMAS.

There was a stir in the drawing-room, and a on her cheek, and so they stood waiting a min-
louder sound of voices. The gentlemen were ute longer, and loving to be together, and sud-
coming in. Lady Mary must go back; but denly the sweet old bells in Danesly church,
when she kissed Betty again, there was a tear down the hill, rang out the Christmas chimes.
THE END.

BY OLIVER HERFORD.

CHILD at school who fails to pass
Examination in his class
Of Natural History will be
So shaky in Zo6logy,
That, should he ever chance
to go
STo foreign parts, he scarce
will know
The common Mus Ridiculus
From Felis or Caniculus.
And what of boys and girls is true
Applies to other creatures, too,
As you will cheerfully admit
When once I 've illustrated it.

Once on a time a young Giraffe
(Who when at school devoured the chaff,
And trampled underneath his feet
The golden grains of Learning's wheat)
Upon his travels chanced to see
A Python hanging from a tree,
A thing he 'd never met before.
All neck it seemed and nothing more;
And, stranger still, it was bestrown
With pretty spots much like his own.
"Well, well I've often heard," he said,
"Of foolish folk who lose their head;
But really it 's a funnier joke
To meet a head that 's lost its folk.

In 1111

A-

318

THE UNTUTORED GIRAFFE.

Dear me! Ha! ha! it makes me laugh.
Where has he left his other half?
If he could find it he would be
A really fine Giraffe, like me."

The Python, waking with a hiss,
Exclaimed, "What kind of snake is this?
Your spots are really very fine,
Almost as good, in fact, as mine,

(. 1But with those legs I fail to see
/ How you can coil about a tree.
Take away half, and you would make
A very decent sort of snake -
1 Almost as fine a snake as I;
Indeed, it 's not too late to try."
S' A something in the Python's eye
/ Told the Giraffe 't was best to fly,
COmitting all formality.
And afterward, when safe at home,
He wrote a very learned tome,
Called, "What I Saw beyond the Foam."
Said he, "The strangest thing one sees
Is a Giraffe who hangs from trees,
And has (right here the author begs
To state a fact) and has no legs / "

The book made a tremendous hit.
The public all devoured it,
Save one, who, minding how he missed
Devouring the author hissed.

319

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

BY ARTHUR HALE.

I : -/

SIGNAL TOWER AND SEMAPHORES. SHOWING DOWN-TRACK (MIDDLE ONE) BLOCKED; UP-TRACK (RIGHT HAND ONE)
CLEAR. FREIGHT TRAIN ON SIDING WAITING TO PASS OVER TO THE MAIN OR MIDDLE TRACK. UPPER
SEMAPHORE CONTROLS MAIN LINE LOWER ONE THE SIDING.

I WISH the train would start," said Holly.
The train had been standing still for about
half an hour, and Holly was tired of looking
out of the windows, for there was nothing to
see except the smooth green sod on the sides
of the railroad cut in which they had stopped.
Holly and his brother Jack were going out of
town to take a ride, and it certainly was ag-
gravating to know that the horses were stand-
ing all ready at the station a few miles ahead,
while the riders were stopped in this uncalled-
for way.
Jack had been reading the newspaper with a
good deal more attention than Holly liked, for
he had learned by experience that it was not a
good plan to interrupt his elder brother's read-
ing; but when Jack had finished Holly started
in with his wish that the train would start.
Now, do you know," said Jack, tapping the

seat in front of him with the handle of his crop,
"although I should be very glad to get to Bev-
erly and to start on our ride, yet I do not wish
the train to start just yet, and if you will come
out with me I can show you why."
So they walked out of the car and jumped
from the platform into the dry ditch. A num-
ber of men were standing there already.
The train had stopped just before it reached
a little house, two stories high, which Jack
called a "tower."
"There," said Jack, we have a red block,
you see; and if the train were to start now,
probably it would run into something, and we
might never get to Beverly at all."
I do not understand what you mean by a
red block," said Holly. Has it anything to do
with that post over there ?"
Yes," said Jack; "the arm that you see on

r- :'P1~1~3 ~O~i~V;I~,"

( ` r~
1
,
..

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS. '21

the top is a semaphore signal. It warns the There 's the white block," said Jack.
engineer that there is something on the track "Jump in quick!"
ahead of him. He is not allowed to go ahead The engine whistled four times; there was a
until the arm drops. The man up in the tower great scurrying of the men to get on the train;
can raise and lower the arm." and in the rear of the train Holly could see a
"But how can he
tell there is some-
thing on the track? "
When we say
there is something on
the track, we do not
always mean that
some one has put A
something there, or
is trying to wreck
our train. Possibly
there is on the track
a train or car that has 6, X
not reached the next'
station." -, '
"Oh!" said Holly. -* '
"Then does the man
at the next station '
telegraph back to this -
man in the tower? "
"Precisely; and the
operator here won't
signal to go ahead
until the operator at
the next tower has
reported the track all
clear."
"What was it you .
called the signal,
Jack ? Holly asked,
after a moment. "It '
was a queer sort of a /
name?" .
"Icalledita'sema-
phore signal.' It is a -- .. ..
word borrowed from l
the French, and is
made up, I believe, *
from the Greek words |
for 'sign' and 'bearer.'
Just then there was LAMP-BOY LIGHTING THE SEMAPHORE FOR THE NIGHT. 4.30 I.,.
quite a little clatter on the top of the post they man in uniform, and carrying a red flag, running
were looking at, and one of the arms dropped toward the last car. Then the engine whistled
from its horizontal position until it hung almost twice, and the train started.
vertical. When they were well seated, Holly watched
VOL. XXIII.-41.

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

to see if his brother would take up his newspa-
per again; but as Jack seemed in a communi-
cative mood, Holly went on with his questions.
Just what did you mean by a w/hife block
and a red block ? he inquired.
Oh," replied Jack, I called the signals
white and red because the semaphore is ar-
ranged at night to show a white light for safety,
and a red light for danger. There is at night
a lamp at the top of the post; and when the
arm is raised as if to bar the passage of the
train,- that is, when there is something ahead,
-a red glass is brought in front of the lamp, so
that it shows a red light. When the arm falls
again, the red glass moves away from the front
of the lamp, and it shows a white light."
"But how about the block ? "
"As to that, 'block' is a word we have re-
cently borrowed from England. In this signal
system they speak of the railroad as being
divided into blocks; indeed the whole system is
called the block system.' A block extends from
one signal to the next; and our railroad men,
when they come to a danger-signal, speak of
getting a red block,' and when they come to a
safety-signal, of 'getting a white block.' I
don't know whether they use this slang in Eng-
land or not."
Holly thought for quite a little while before
he spoke again. Then he said:
"I see now. Although our train cannot
start until the other train has left the station
ahead, there is no danger of any other train
running into us, because the signalman behind
us keeps that train standing till we have passed
the next station."
"I think you have the idea about right,
Holly."
"What was all the whistling about when the
signals changed to safety, as you say ? Holly
asked.
But just at that moment the brakeman put
his head into the car, and shouted Beverly!
Beverly! and when Holly could see Dennis
with the horses, he forgot all about the railroad
and the signals, while he and Jack galloped
up the bridle-path so fast that Dennis could
hardly keep up with them.
Having arrived so late, they came back to
Beverly station only just in time to catch the

return train. A trainman was standing on the
rear platform, and as they stepped aboard Holly
noticed that the man pulled the bell-cord once.
Just as the train was starting, however, two
young girls ran out of the station, and the train-
man hurriedly pulled the cord twice.
The train slowed up, and as the girls came
into the car, the man started the train again
with a single pull.
In the city horse-cars Holly had noticed
that the conductor pulled the bell twice to start
the car and once to stop it, and he was sur-
prised to find the code of signals reversed on
the steam railroad. He turned to ask Jack
about it, but Jack was again hidden behind a
newspaper.
They were, however, sitting in the rear seat
of the car, and the trainman was standing near
them, looking back out of the rear door; and
Holly, after some hesitation, went up beside
him and spoke to him.
Excuse me," said he, but how is it that
you rang once to start the train and twice to
stop it ? "
The trainman looked somewhat surprised,
but said simply, "Because it 's the rule."
"But why is it the rule ? said Holly. It
is just the other way on the horse-cars."
The man stared at Holly for quite a little
while, as if in doubt whether to say something
cross; but his consideration of the case seemed
to result in Holly's favor, and he said:
"Well, now, young man, I don't know that
I can tell you why it is the rule. The rule is
the rule, and we are not supposed to ask why;
but I suspect it 's this way: that was n't a bell-
rope that I pulled; we used to have a bell, but
now we have a little whistle. Perhaps you
have heard it on the engines. Anyway, as I
said, we used to have a bell; and when the
train broke in two, of course the bell would
ring once. Now, if one ring of the bell meant
to stop, the engineer might stop when the train
broke in two, and the rear section might run
into him and make bad work. I suppose
that 's the reason they had two rings to stop
and one to start. Of course nobody would
ring one bell when the train was going fast,
and that 's the only time the train would be
likely to break in two."

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

"Do trains ever break in two ?" said Holly.
''Yes, they do sometimes -that is, the cars
get uncoupled; and then, of course, the bell-
cord used to break, and, as I said, the bell rang
once on the engine. Now that we have got
the whistle, it blows for three or four minutes
when the train breaks in two, but they have
kept the same rules. There is another thing
about it. Suppose some fellow, who has no
business to do it, wants to stop the train; like
as not he will ring just once to stop it, and the
engineer won't pay any attention to him."
Holly had been looking at the man with
some interest as he talked, thinking that he
had seen him before, and presently he said:
"Were n't you the brakeman who ran back
with the red flag when the train was stopped
about here going the other way this after-
noon ? "
"I am not a brakeman; I am a flagman,"
was the reply; "but I guess I 'm the man you
mean. It was about here we got a red block,
and I went back."
"Yes, that was what Jack said," said Holly-
"that we had a red block; but why did you go
back ? "
"I suppose if I should say because it 's
the rule,' that would n't satisfy you," said the
flagman, laughing. "The rule is that you have
got to go back to protect the end of your
train, so that if another train comes along it
won't run into yours."
But I thought," said Holly, who was not
averse to displaying his knowledge-" I thought
there was a signal at the end of the block that
would stop trains."
"Yes," said the flagman, "that 's true; and
really there is not much reason for a fellow's
going back now, and I understand they say we
do it 'only as an extra precaution.' You see,
the operator in the tower might be taken sick
or something, and then the man with the flag
would be of some use. The way it is now,
two fellows must fail in their duty before any
harm can come to you passengers."
Just now," said Holly, who found his new
friend was getting quite confidential, "you told
me you were not a brakeman, but a flagman."
"Yes," said the flagman; "when the train
stops I have to go back with the flag. I sup-

pose I am really a brakeman,-I might be
called the rear brakeman,- but they call us
flagmen and pay us a little more, and so we
don't quite like to be called plain brakemen.
It 's something like getting promoted from
'freight' to passenger,' you know."
Holly did not know, but he thought he
could imagine, and he was quite disappointed
when, without a word, the flagman hurried for-
ward as they neared the next station.

The next morning it happened that Holly
and his father were the only people early to
breakfast. Holly had to go to school, and his
father had to go to his office, while the rest of
the household, on that day at least, did not
have to go anywhere. So they two had the
table between them.
"Papa," said Holly, "are n't you something
on a railroad ? "
"Why," replied Mr. Holworthy, smiling at
the form of the question, I am a director on
one or two small railroads in the West; but I
really don't know whether you call that being
something or nothing."
"The reason why I ask is because yester-
day I found out some things about railroads
that I did not know before. Of course that
is not very strange," he went on quickly, as he
noticed that his father was looking at him quiz-
zically; "but they really interested me quite
a good deal."
"I am glad to hear that, Holly; for there
really are a great many things to interest one
about a railroad, and it may be of benefit to
you to find out some of them. What were
the particular things you found out, and from
whom did you learn them ? "
"Well," said Holly, "Jack told me some,
and the flagman of our train told me others ";
then, as his father seemed interested, he went
on:
"Of course it was n't much, but it was
about keeping trains from running into each
other, and about signals for starting and stop-
ping."
Was that when you went out to Beverly
yesterday afternoon? Then I suppose they
told you about the block system ? "
"Yes, that was it; and about how the men

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

in the towers telegraph to each other when with you on the way to the office,-I think
trains pass them." you will have time before school,- and I can
Did they tell you about the other signals ? show you what I mean, and perhaps some
said Mr. Holworthy--" about the flags on the other points may come up. Will you have

trains, and the markers,' and so on ? "

time for that, do you think ? "

--'-~" ~ ~ -i~- ~ ~ -~~1

i..i

THIE RED BLOCK DANGER SIGNAL.

"Why, no," said Holly; I think we might
have got to that, but the flagman had to go
away, and Jack was reading the newspaper."
"Well," said Mr. Holworthy, looking at his
watch, I can stop in at the railroad station

Holly glanced at the
clock. Oh, yes,"
said he; "it is n't
much out of the way.
It 's ever so good of
you to take so much
interest in it."
"Well," said his fa-
ther, "I don't know
much about railroads,
but the little I have
picked up is at your
service. Come along!"
As they walked down
the avenue, Mr. Hol-
worthy, who had been
silent for a while, be-
gan to talk about the
railroads again.
Did either Jack or
your friend the flagman
speak of a train break-
ing in two ? "
"Yes, I think so,"
said Holly. Oh, I re-
member now-it was
when we were talking
about the signal to start
a train; the flagman
said that when a train
broke in two the bell
would ring once."
"Did it ever occur
to you what might hap-
pen if a train should
break in two without
the engineer's knowing
it of course that could
happen only with a
freight-train and he

should run by a tower, and then the operator
should telegraph back that the train had
passed ? "
No," said Holly, who was a little over-
whelmed by these details. No; they did not

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

speak of that, and I am afraid I do not quite
understand."
Then we will try again," said Mr. Holwor-
thy. "You were just saying that with the
block system, when a train passed a signal-sta-
tion, the operator there kept the danger-signal
up until the operator ahead told him that that
train had passed."
"Yes," said Holly; "that 's right."
"Because," said his father, "if he allowed
a second train to go forward it might run into
the first train."
"Yes," said Holly.
"Now," said his father, "supposing only
part of the first train went by, and the operator
telegraphed back that it had passed; then if a
second train went ahead, it might run into the
cars of the first train that had been left behind."
Oh, yes," said Holly; that might be so if
the train was broken in two, as you say."
"Then," said Mr. Holworthy, "to make
things quite safe, the operator in the tower
ought to know, without uncertainty, whether the
whole train has passed, or only part of it."
"Yes," said Holly; "but I do not see very
well how he can know, for some trains have
more cars than others."
"How would it do if the last car on each
train were marked so that the operator could
readily see whether the whole train had passed
or not ? said his father.
I should think that would work first-rate,"
said Holly, with more zeal than grammar.
Well, suppose you wanted to mark the last
car in the train, how would you set about it ? "
I suppose you might have a board marked
'last car,'" said Holly; "but that would be
rather clumsy, and then you would need it on
both sides of the car, because the operator
might be on either side of the track."
How would that do at night ? "
"I do not think it would do at all," said
Holly. "They would need something differ-
ent at night -some sort of a lamp, I suppose."
You are right about the lamp, but you are
not right about the board. They have a flag
instead,- or, rather, two flags. Here we are
at the station, and I think I can show them to
you."
As they walked through the lobby to the

train-shed, they saw in front of them a long
line of cars, with an engine beyond, apparently
just ready to start.
"I cannot see any flag," said Holly, in a
disappointed tone.
"Perhaps that 's because this last car is n't
going," said his father.
As he spoke a trainman in uniform passed
them, carrying quite a bundle of things-
several lanterns, and also, to Holly's great joy,
several flags. He went by a number of the
cars in the train, and then jumped on the plat-
form of one, set down the lamps, and taking
two green flags, he unrolled them and set them
up in sockets at each side of the roof, over the
platform at the end of the car.
There! said Holly. That must be the
last car going. But what are the other flag and
all the lanterns for ? "
"The red flag and the red lantern are for
him to protect his train with, I suppose," said
Holly's father, in case it has to stop."
Oh, yes," said Holly; "I remember now
that when our train stopped on the way to
Beverly, my friend the flagman, as you call
him, did take the red flag and run back quite
a distance-almost out of sight; but there are
three lanterns, two green and one red."
Yes; the green lanterns are to replace the
green flags when it is dark."
They were standing on one side of the plat-
form, and the people were hurrying by them
and climbing into the cars.
The train is very full," said Holly. I am
glad we are not going, for we might not get a
seat."
Just then a man with Conductor" on his
cap walked by the train, and spoke a few words
to the flagman. At once the latter took down
the flags, went into the car and gathered up all
the lanterns, and then started back to the next
car.
"Why, what 's that for?" said Holly.
"Are n't they going to have the flags up when
they are running ? "
Come back with me," said his father, and
we shall see." So they walked along on the
station platform as the flagman walked back
through the car, and when they reached the
end of the next car they saw him putting up

325

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

the flags there, just as they had been put on
the car ahead.
Oh," said Holly, they are going to take
another car because they have such a crowd."
But his father, after looking at his watch and
saying he had just enough time to keep an ap-
pointment, hurried away, and then Holly found
that he too would have to hurry to "keep his
appointment" at school.
Holly was so much interested in the signals
that, I am sorry to say, he compared notes on
the subject with Stoughton Second, who had
the desk in front of him in school. It was
easier for Holly to give his views to Stoughton
Second than for Stoughton Second to return
them, as the latter could not very well reply
without attracting attention. He managed--
and this also I regret to pass back a little slip
of paper to Holly under the desk, saying that

-
o ~" ? -

FRONT OF ENGINE. FLAGS AND LAMPS IN POSITION.

his brother that is, Stoughton First, who was
in the first class at school had told him some-
thing about flags, but that these flags were on
the engine, and not on the rear car.
There was not time at recess to talk about
even so important a matter, because they played
foot-ball, and as both Holly and Stoughton
Second were practising for the second eleven
of the school, and were pretty sure of getting a

place there, they had, of course, to give all
their wits to the game.
When school was over, however, they walked
home together, and their talk turned on the
railroad flags.
First Holly told about the flags on the rear
of the train, and then Stoughton Second who,
by the way, was known out of school as Mat-
thew or Mat-told about the flags on the en-
gine.
I don't know that I understand it exactly,"
said he; "but my brother said they had green
flags, almost like your rear-car flags, only that
they were on the front of the engine. What he
said was that when a train was run in sections
all the sections except the last had flags on the
engine."
"I think I know what running in sections
means," said Holly. "You know, on a time-
table they give the time of a train at each sta-
tion, and when there are so many people for a
train that one engine cannot haul the cars, they
make up another train and run it just behind
the first, keeping as near schedule time as they
can; but they do not call it another train--
they call it a section of the first train."
It 's different from marking the last car,"
said Matthew; "they seem to mark all the
sections except the last."
I do not quite understand why they want to
do it," said Holly; perhaps, though, it helps
the operators in the tower to know that the
other sections are really the same train. But
there is Jack; we can ask him."
Sure enough, on the opposite side of the
street was Jack, just strolling home to lunch.
The boys ran across, and each took a place
at one side of him.
"Jack," said Holly, Mat has been tell-
ing me about running trains in sections, and
putting flags on the front of the engine, and we
want to know why they do it."
"Well," said Jack, "it 's a pretty long story,
and I don't know that I can explain the whole
of it myself; but I believe it is more for the
information of the freight-trains than anything
else."
But what do the freight-trains care for the
passenger-trains ? said Holly.
"They care a great deal," said Jack; "and

326

HOLLY AND THE RAILROAD SIGNALS.

* ~-zu..- -

END OF LAST CAR. FLAGS AND LAMPS IN POSITION.
that is one of the things people who ride on the
railroad think very little about. Freight-trains,
as you know, generally run on the same tracks
as the passenger-trains, but they do not run so

fast, and to avoid a collision they have to keep
out of the way of the passenger-trains. So
there is a rule that whenever a passenger-train
is due the freight-train must pull out on a
siding, and stay there until the passenger-train
has passed."
But what 's that got to do with the sec-
tions ? said Stoughton Second.
I guess," said Holly, "it's something like
the last-car business. If the freight-train has to
stay on the siding till the passenger-train passes,
and if the passenger-train has more than one
section, the men on the freight-train need
something to tell how many sections there are."
That 's it," said Jack. The men on the
freight-train have to stay on the siding till the
section that has not got the flag on has passed.
I believe, too, that on some roads the first
section of a train whistles three times to show
that there is another section following. But
what makes you boys so interested in rail-
roading all of a sudden ? he continued, as
they came up to the house. "Are you going
to be railroaders?"
Why not? asked Holly.

A MATHEMATICAL MAIDEN.

By MAY HARDING ROGERS.

MATHEMATIC maiden mine,
Say you '11 be my Valentine!
We '11 go to sea in a snug little bark
That will ride the waves like Noah's .

We '11 visit the and the .
too; --<
And then the place where the first ,
grew.
We '11 go to the "zone" of the "variable"
breeze,
And \ for fish in the summer seas.

All over the ( we together will roam,
And wherever you like we will make our
home.
Your fingers fair no work shall stain,
For servants three we '11 take in our train.

If my hypothesis is correct,
My heart and hand you will not reject;
And the happiest man in the world will be
Yours ever and only
"Q. E. D."

327

TEDDY AND CARROTS:
TWO MERCHANTS OF NEWSPAPER ROW.

BY JAMES OTIS.

[Begun in the May number.]

CHAPTER XIV.

THE PLOT.

SHORTLY after the boys arrived at City Hall
Park, and before the business of the day had
fairly begun, Teenie Massey approached to in-
quire if they had lately heard anything regard-
ing Skip.
Have n't seen nor heard of him," Carrots
replied. What makes you ask ? "
"Nothin', only I heard he was tearin' 'round
dreadful yesterday, tellin' what he was goin' to
do to you fellers."
I guess he '11 keep under cover for a while,"
Carrots replied confidently; and Teenie said, as
he shook his head warningly:
Now don't be too sure of that, old man.
I guess you want to keep your eyes open all
the time, an' if you get to thinking' he can't do
any harm, you '11 find him jumpin' right down
on you some day."
I '11 risk all the harm he can do," Carrots
replied with a laugh. He 's too much afraidd
the police will 'rest him for stealin', to come
'round where we are."
"Well, I happen to know, from what Reddy
Jackson said, that he has n't given up hopes of
driving' you off yet."
Carrots did not think this warning worthy
his attention; but yet he repeated the same to
Teddy when he found an opportunity.
"I reckon Teenie 's not far wrong," Master
Thurston said, greatly to the surprise of his
partner. It did n't stand to reason that we
was goin' to scare Skip so quick, an' I think
he '11 make one more try to git rid of us."
"I don't see what he can do," Carrots said
musingly; and Teddy chimed in:

Neither do I, an' that 's just why we 're
bound to be pretty careful. You see, if we
could know what he was up to, it would be
different."
There was no further opportunity to discuss
the matter, owing to the sudden demand for
the bootblack's services, and by noon both the
partners had almost forgotten the warning given
by Teenie.
This day's business brought them more money
than the previous one, but not so much as on
the occasion when Skip last made his threats.
On counting up the cash immediately after
their return home, it showed an addition of a
dollar and seventy-one cents to the fund, and
when this had been ascertained, Carrots found
time to inquire as to the condition of their
invalid friend.
"I 'm feeling' first-class," Ikey said, "'an
reckon my leg '11 be all right to-morrow. Say,
who do you s'pose has been sneakin' 'round
here to-day ? "
It can't be Skip Jellison ? Carrots replied
quickly.
That 's jest who it was, an' Reddy Jackson
come with him. Course they did n't know I
was in here, an' I lay low and I heard every
word they said."
What did they talk 'bout ?"
"You see I was thinking' how nice it felt to
be out er pain, when there was a rattlin' among
the boxes, as if somebody was a-walkin' on
'em. First, I thought one of the men from the
store had come out, an' I kept mighty quiet.
Then two fellows begun to talk, an' I knew who
it was the minute they spoke; so I listened.
Reddy he said to Skip, Here 's where them
fellows live.' Skip he 'lowed he could n't see any
place, an' Reddy said he knowed it was, 'cause
he followed you home last night. Then he fig-

TEDDY AND CARROTS : TWO MERCHANTS OF NEWSPAPER ROW.

ured out that you slept in one of the boxes,
an' that satisfied Skip."
Did they hunt to see if they could find
where we stopped ? "
"No; I reckon they did n't dare, for fear,
somebody 'd catch 'em. They was setting' up
there on the fence, an' if one of the clerks had
showed his nose they could have jumped over
on the other side mighty quick. I tell you
them fellows are up to some mischief."
"What do you mean? Teddy asked quickly.
"I heard Skip say he was goin' to burn you
out, an' Reddy asked if he counted on doin' it
to-night. He 'lowed he would n't, 'cause he'd
got to go over to Jersey City; but he 's bound
to, the very first evening' he can get away with-
out anybody's known' what he 's up to. He
says he could put a lot of papers an' shavin's in
these boxes, an' you 'd be scorched some before
you got out."
Carrots was on the point of laughing at this
revelation of Skip's plot, much as if he ques-
tioned the latter's courage to do such a thing,
when he observed Teddy, who was silent and
looking very grave.
"Why, you don't believe they'd dare to burn
us out ? he asked in surprise.
I ain't so sure 'bout that. Skip Jellison 's a
fellow that dares to do 'most anything, if he
thinks he can get through with it an' not be
caught. It would be a mighty serious scrape for
us if the boxes should get on fire while we were
here. If any one saw us coming' out they'd say
sure we did it. You might talk till you were
blue in the face, if they knew that we had had
candles here, an' not make 'em think we did n't
do the mischief."
"By jiminy! you 're right!" Carrots ex-
claimed, as he began to realize what their po-
sition would be under such circumstances.
" Don't you think we 'd better tell the folks
in the store what Skip 's counting' on doin'?"
"That would n't do any good. He 'd swear
it was n't so, an' all we 'd make out of it would
be our havin' to leave."
"It seems as if that was what we 'd got to
do anyhow, if he 's goin' to set this place on fire."
Of course."
Carrots was surprised that his partner should
agree with him so readily, and asked:
VOL. XXIII.-42.

"Do you really think we ought ter go away
from here?"
"That's jest the size of it. 'Cordin' to my
way of figurin', we 're apt to get ourselves into
a fuss by stayin'; an' although it '11 be hard
work to find as snug a place, I reckon it 's
safer to go."
Carrots was instantly plunged into the low-
est depths of sorrow.
Never before had the packing-case home
seemed so beautiful as now, when it appeared
necessary to leave it.
"I 'd like to see somebody thrash that Skip !
He 's hardly fit to live "
"The best way 's to let him alone. He '11
bring himself up with a short turn before long,"
Teddy replied confidently, and then relapsed
into thoughtful silence.
"Well, when are we goin' to move? Car-
rots asked, after a pause, during which he
gazed intently at the flame of the candle, try-
ing very hard to see there the picture of the es-
tablishment which he fondly hoped would soon
belong to the thriving young firm of Thurston
& Williams.
We 'd better look 'round the first thing to-
morrow. I began to think Skip was up to
something 'cause we did n't see him. If he
had n't had an idea in his head 'bout how to
serve us out, he 'd been up 'round City Hall
to-day."
Then it was Carrots's turn to remain silent,
and not a word was spoken until Ikey timidly
ventured to ask if they had decided not to eat
supper on this night.
This caused them to remember that they
were hungry; but neither felt disposed to linger
long over the meal, and at an unusually early
hour the candle-was put out as the inmates of
the box laid themselves down to rest for what
all three believed would be the last time in that
locality.
It was Teddy who awakened the others next
morning, and as Carrots opened his eyes he ex-
claimed petulantly:
What 's the use of turning' a feller out now ?
The sun ain't up yet."
But it will be pretty soon, an' we 've got a
good deal on hand to-day," Teddy replied.
" Ikey must go with us, for he might n't get a

329

330 TEDDY AND CARROTS: TWO MERCHANTS OF NEWSPAPER ROW.

chance to get away in the day-time, an' it won't
do to stay here another night."
It was a sad-visaged party that filed out of
the narrow passage leading to the street, in the
growing light of the early dawn, and made its
way, without special aim or purpose, toward the
customary place of business.
It was decided Ikey should be left upon
one of the settees in the park, while the others
went on a tour of investigation for the pur-
pose of finding new lodgings, and then the
party separated with the understanding that
they would meet an hour later to partake of
breakfast.
Carrots was the first to keep this appoint-
ment, and he looked exceedingly low-spirited
when he seated himself by the side of the in-
valid, who had not yet sufficiently recovered to
be able to take very much exercise in the way
of walking.
Find anything ? Ikey asked.
"Not a thing! I reckon it '11 be many a
long day before we '11 get another place sich
as we had down there "; and then Master Car-
rots indulged once more in harsh words against
his enemies.
His tirade was interrupted by the arrival
of Teddy, who looked as joyous as his partner
looked despondent, causing the latter to say in
a querulous tone:
It does n't seem as if you cared very much
'bout what them fellows are making' us do i "
"Well, I reckon you 're right, Carrots. P'r-
haps it's the best thing ever happened, that we
had to clear out this morning. "
"What do you mean? "
"What do you s'pose I 've found ?"
Do you mean a place to sleep ? "
Yes."
"Ain't been buyin' the Astor House, or any-
thing like that ? "
Comes pretty nigh it, Carrots. I 've found
a stand!"
"I can find dozens of 'em; but that 's all the
good it '11 do."
But I mean one we can buy."
"Yes, when we 've got the money," Carrots
replied impatiently. Where we goin' to stay
till we earn as much as we '11 need ? "
I can make a trade for this one, with what

we 've got, by greeni' to come up with fifty
cents every day."
What! and Carrots sprang to his feet, his
face expressive of mingled joy and astonish-
ment. Do you mean to say you know of a
fellow that '11 trust us for the money?"
"That's jest it! "
"Let 's get right to him before he has time
to back out! A fellow what can make sich a
chump of hisself as that might get sneaked off
to the 'sylum before we 'd have time to finish
up the trade."
"There 's no need of hurryin' so awful fast,
'cause this bargain '11 wait for us an hour any-
how. In the first place, old man, perhaps it
ain't what you 're counting' on. It 's a good
stand enough, an' seems to me is in a pretty fair
neighborhood; but the fellow what it b'longs
to could n't make a go out er it, so had to give
it up to the man who owns the building. "
"Where is it ? "
"On Mulberry street, jest off er Grand. You
see, some fellow built it against the corner store,
an' 'greed to pay a dollar a week for the trouble
of havin' it there. He could n't raise the rent,
an' after he 'd stayed three months, the shop-
keeper took it. Now, I happened to see the
place, an' went in an' talked with the man. He
said it cost twenty dollars, an' he 'd sell it for
ten if we 'd 'gree to pay a dollar every week for
rent, an' fifty cents a day on what we owe him."
"How much you got toeput down cash ? "
Carrots asked, his face clouded somewhat as
he learned that the establishment was not as
desirable as he had hoped their future place of
residence would be.
"All we can raise."
"What '11 that 'mount to ?"
"Pretty nigh five dollars; but one of those
dollars goes for rent, you know."
"Is it big enough to sleep in ?"
"Yes; we three could get under the counter
without much trouble, an' there 's a stove
b'longs to it, that goes in with the trade."
But if we open up there won't be anything
to sell."
"I 've 'lowed that we '11 keep back 'bout a
dollar to buy papers with, an' then if both of
us work mighty hard, it won't be more 'n three
or four days before we can have a pretty good

1896.] TEDDY AND CARROTS: TWO MERCHANTS OF NEWSPAPER ROW.

lot of stuff. You '11 keep right on shinin', an'
I '11 do my level best with papers, while Ikey
'tends to the stand till he gets well. 'Cordin'
to my way of thinking we can build up a good
trade there if we hustle; an' that's what we 've
got to do wherever we go. Now, what do you
say to it? "
"Let 's go an' see the place," Carrots said,
after a moment's pause, and Ikey slid down
from the settee, as if to intimate that he in-
tended to accompany the party.
Teddy started off at once, for it was his be-
lief there should be no time lost, in case they
concluded to make the trade, because of the
fact that the hour for regular business was close
at hand.
On arriving at the stand Carrots's first impres-
sion was very favorable toward the purchase.
It was painted green, not as bright as if the
color had just been laid on, but sufficiently so
to satisfy him regarding the supposed "luck,"
and quite as roomy inside as Teddy had stated.
The only apparent drawback was regarding
the business location, for it was a short distance
off the regular line of travel, and this fact Mas-
ter Carrots noted at once.
"That 's so," Teddy replied, when the ob-
jections were stated; and I thought about all
that while I was coming' down to tell you. It
seems to me as if we might get up a good trade
'round among these stores, by greeni' to bring
the papers just as soon as they was out, an'
with three of us to pitch in, we could live right
up to all our promises. As I said before,
we've got to work a good deal harder than
we 've been doin'."
"It does n't seem to me as if we could do
that. I 've been humpin' myself the best I
knew how the last two days."
"That 's so, Carrots: but you could run
'round a little more, I reckon, if by doin' it we
was to own a stand right away."
Oh, I 'm willing' to go in, an' you shall be
the boss."
"Then we '11 buy it," Teddy said decidedly.
" I 've got to rush down after the money."
Did you leave it under the boxes ? "
"Yes, I did n't want to lug it 'round all day."

"But I thought we 'd 'greed not to go
back."
"I 'lowed to go down the first thing after
we knocked off. It 's all safe enough, any-
how. You stay here till I get back."
Teddy was off like a flash, and impatient
though Carrots was to have the business ar-
rangements completed, his partner returned be-
fore he thought there had been sufficient time
for Teddy to make the journey.
The preliminaries were quickly arranged, once
they were ready to pay over the money, and,
leaving Ikey in charge of the empty stand, the
proud proprietors went hurriedly down town,
Teddy saying, as he parted with the clerk:
"I '11 come back soon 's I can, with the
morning' papers, and we '11 open right up."
"I '11 get things fixed before then, if I can
borrow a broom, 'cause the inside of the place
must be cleaned up," the new clerk replied, thus
showing that he was attentive to the interests
of his employers.
If Carrots had done as he wished, every
newsboy and bootblack in the lower portion of
the city would have known that he and Teddy
had gone regularly into business; but the latter
was averse to proclaiming the news so soon.
Better hold on a day or two, an' see how
it pans out," the cautious merchant advised.
"You see, if we should bust up the first thing,
the fellows would laugh at us. We 're bound
to stay a week, now the money 's paid; but
how long a time is that to brag 'bout? I
want ter know if we 're goin' to stick, before I
say anything."
"When will you 'gree to tell the fellows ?"
"If we can pay our bills an' have enough
left to keep the stock up, by a week from to-
day you shall go 'round to spread the news,
an' I won't open my mouth till you 've seen
every fellow you know."
This was satisfactory to the junior partner,
and he promised to attend to his work in the
lower portion of the city as if nothing out of
the usual course of events had happened, even
though the firm of Thurston & Williams had ac-
tually sprung into existence in a proper and a
business-like manner.

(To be continued.)

BY FLORENCE E. PRATT.

A REGINALD BIRCH little boy
Met the sweetest of Greenaway girls;
She, dressed all in Puritan brown,
He, with cavalier ruffles and curls.
Her eyes were of solemnest brown,
Her hair was cropped close to her head.
His curls were a riot of gold,
His cheeks were of healthiest red.
They looked at each other awhile,
Gay gallant and Puritan maid;
Then the Reginald Birch little boy
Slowly and solemnly said:
"I wish you wore rufflety clothes!
I wish that my hair was cut short!

a~C~s

WISHES.

'Cause the boys call me 'missy' and 'girl,'
And it interferes so with my sport."

Said she, "Oh, I like pretty clothes,
And I do wish they 'd let my hair curl!
I wish you were a Greenaway boy,
And I was a Fauntleroy girl!"

LITTLE MR. BY-AND-BY.

LITTLE Mr. By-and-By,
You will mark him by his cry,
And the way he loiters when
Called again and yet again,
Glum if he must leave his play
Though all time be holiday.

Little Mr. By-and-By,
Eyes cast down and mouth awry!
In the mountains of the moon

He is known as Pretty. Soon;
And he 's cousin t6 Don't Care,
As no doubt you 're well aware.

Little Mr. By-and-By
Always has a fretful Why ? "
When he 's asked to come or go,
Like his sister Susan Slow.
Hope we 'l never-you nor I-
Be like Mr. By-and-By.
Clinton Scollard.

333

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

(A Story of the Year 30 A. D.)

By WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

[Begun in ite November number.]

CHAPTER VII.

JERUSALEM.

SOMETHING in the air of the beautiful country
around the Sea of Galilee seemed to give its
people tranquillity. Everybody was busy, in-
deed, and it was not difficult to earn a living
where the needs of all were so simple. There
was no contentment, however, for the yoke of
the Roman foreigner pressed heavily, and so
did the oppressions of Herod Antipas, whom no
Jew could regard but as a foreigner, although
his mother had been a Jewess. Every act of
brutal cruelty and every merciless exaction which
the Galileans suffered helped to keep them in
mind of the prophecies of future freedom.
There had never been a time when all Jews
were so busy with thoughts concerning the
coming of a Messiah, and their fixed idea was
that he was to be a glorious conqueror and
king, one greater than David or Solomon, one
who was to make the Jews the foremost nation
on the earth.
Lois and Cyril saw each other almost daily,
and all their thoughts and talk were about their
father. They longed to know what had be-
come of him, but there were no tidings.
"I wish father could come and see the
Teacher and hear him," said Cyril, one day.
He and Lois had been talking of the subject
which was uppermost in the minds of the peo-
ple, and Cyril had been studying the stockade
at the Roman camp.
Lois was thoughtfully silent, and he went on:
"Father ought to be getting ready, if there
is ever to be a rising against the Romans. He
knows hosts of men all over the country. He
knows old fighting-men, and they know him.

He could get them together, too, whenever the
right time comes. Oh, if his right hand were
sound, what things he could do!"
"The Nazarene is not often in Capernaum
now," said Lois. "He is teaching and preach-
ing among the villages, everywhere, and so
many go to hear him."
"I wish I could see him do some new won-
der!" exclaimed Cyril. "They '11 forget all
about the wine at Cana. I met a man who
was at the wedding, and he said he thought I
was mistaken in what was done."
For some undeclared reason, the Teacher, as
all men except the rabbis called Jesus, was only
teaching and preaching among the towns around
the head of the lake. He was becoming widely
known, however, as those who heard him car-
ried news of his discourses, and as yet he had
not made enemies.
The days and weeks wore on until the
autumn went by, and then the winter, of that
mild climate. The land grew green again with
the swift growth of the spring crops. The time
drew near for the annual Passover Feast, and
every year a host of pious Galileans--all who
were able -were sure to celebrate it at Jeru-
salem. When it was announced that Jesus of
Nazareth and his disciples intended to go, most
who heard took it as a matter of course, but it
aroused enthusiasm in Cyril. "I am going,"
he said to Lois. I cannot take thee this time;
we have not money enough. But I must be
with him at Jerusalem. Who knows what great
works he will do when he gets there? Isaac
Ben Nassur is going, and the Cana people."
I wish I might go with thee said Lois.
Thou canst not wish to go more than I do.
I want to see Jerusalem -I want to see the
Temple. I long to see what the Master will
do there."

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

I wish I could take thee with me," said
Cyril. "We will try to have more money for
the journey next year. But he surely will not
yet try to take Jerusalem; I do not think there
will be any fighting this time. I do not see how
he ever can take that great city; it is so strong.
But he must take it some day, if he is the pre-
dicted king. Father says there will be a terri-
ble battle, and I am to be in it. Our captain
will have to raise an army from all over the
country."
Lois made no reply to that. She had never
been able to think as Cyril did of the Teacher.
She could not imagine him with a sword in his
hand, fighting other men.
One of Cyril's ideas had been that the jour-
ney of Jesus of Nazareth to Jerusalem would
be like a royal progress, and that he would
preach to crowds along the way as he was ac-
customed to do in Galilee. But Cyril was
mistaken, for the Teacher traveled both quietly
and rapidly. As for the boy himself, he be-
lieved he was safe in crossing the district of
Samaria, so completely was he hidden among
the crowds of Passover pilgrims. From these
pilgrims the Samaritans kept away, and to
them the Roman soldiers paid no manner of
attention. The weather was glorious; not too
warm for traveling, except in the middle of the
day; and all the country was in bloom and
green.
The Passover was to be eaten on the fifteenth
day of the month Nisan, or April; but earlier
than that multitudes began to gather at Jerusa-
lem, from all parts of the world; for there were
great preparations to be made beforehand.
Some of these had reference to food and lodg-
ings, but even more were connected with the
sacrifices to be offered in the Temple.
The Temple, crowning a high hill, and vis-
ible from a great distance, was in a vast in-
closure of strongly fortified walls. Within this
there were several minor inclosures, separated
by walls and by gates which were themselves
important features of the gilded splendor of the
most costly and beautiful place of worship on
all the earth.
These inner inclosures were called courts,"
and opened into one another. Beyond the
outer court, none save those known to be Jews

could enter, and they only after ceremonial
preparation. Nevertheless, the outer court, just
within the Temple wall, was part of the Tem-
ple, the "sacred place," the house of God:"
Because others than Jews were permitted to
enter, it was called the Court of the Heathen
or Gentiles. According to the scriptures, and
all the teachings of the rabbis, this court was
holy. Into it nothing unclean could be brought,
In it nothing could be bought or sold, nor
could any trade be carried on there. The en-
tire area, and not a part only, was solemnly
consecrated and set apart for worship. Never-
theless, so bad had become the management of
the Temple affairs by the priests and other ru-
lers, that during four weeks before the Passover
all the laws were set aside, and this court was
rented out to dealers in cattle and all sorts of
merchandise, and to brokers who exchanged
current coins such as Jewish shekels and
half-shekels, for the foreign coins brought by
worshipers from other countries. The holy
place, therefore, was lined with cattle-pens, the
booths of tradesmen, the tables of money-
changers, coops of doves, while droves of cat-
tle and sheep, and swarms of buyers and sellers,
shouting, jostling, bargaining, and even quarrel-
ing, turned the entire court into a sort of fair,
where a vast amount of cheating, extortion,
bribery, and other mischief went on continually.
If Cyril had heard of all this desecration of
the Temple, he thought no more of it than did
others, for it was a thing to which even those
who condemned it had become accustomed.
The road from the north, by which the Gali-
leans came, must wind among the hills as it
nears Jerusalem, but at last, just after the city
comes in sight, the road descends into a valley.
When that is passed, there is a long ascent to
the great gate in the high and massive wall
that then guarded the capital of-Judea.
Cyril's eagerness increased as he drew
nearer, and at last the long procession of pil-
grims he was with reached the ridge of the
Mount of Olives, and he could see the city.
Jerusalem is glorious! he exclaimed.
" What massive walls, and great towers! They
say there is a whole legion of Roman soldiers
camped near the city, and that the garrison
inside is always very strong at Passover time.

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

What can our Nazarene do with them? He
is going into the city." ,
Hardly a pause was made, indeed, by the
Teacher and his friends. They were not hin-
dered at the gate, and Cyril hardly allowed
himself to wonder at the palaces and forts and
other splendors as he followed close after Jesus
of Nazareth up the steep street that led to the
Temple. It would have taken him or anybody
long enough to tell of what he saw by the way;
the throngs of people from every nation he
had ever heard of, the many different kinds of
dress, the horses and their trappings, the char-
iots, the flowers and fruits, the shops and mer-
chandise, the women in bright colors, the slaves,
the soldiers in their armor, the men whom
he knew to be gladiators, trained to fight in
the terrible arena outside of the walls. It was
still early in the forenoon of the bright April
day when the Teacher passed into the outer
court of the Temple. His face took on an
expression of sadness and severity as he gazed
upon the scene of traffic and confusion before
him.
Only for a few moments, however, did Jesus
linger and look. His friends from Galilee,
as many as were with him, may have had
errands of their own among the buyers and sel-
lers, for when he suddenly turned and walked
away out of the court, he went almost alone,
only Cyril following, at a little distance, half
breathless with awe and with an intense anxiety
as to what might be about to come.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SCOURGE OF SMALL CORDS.

IN the city of Jerusalem, as in other Oriental
cities, the several trades were not in every quar-
ter, but the dealers in different wares generally
kept separate. Cyril could not have found his
own way to any quarter, but he could follow
his captain, as he considered him, to a narrow
street near by, mainly occupied by dealers in
rope, cordage, and similar wares. There were
also tent-makers in that street, and it was by
the shop of one of these that the Teacher
halted.
Hanging in front of the booth were quan-

titles of the small, strong, tough cords used
for tent fastenings; and Cyril wondered to see
the Teacher buy some of these.
Cyril and the dealer looked on with more
than a little curiosity. A bunch of the cords
were at first cut into lengths, and then the
Teacher plaited them into a kind of whip, half
as large at its beginning as a man's wrist.
Swiftly he worked and dexterously; and Cyril
watched him from a little distance.
The whip, or scourge," was soon finished;
and he who had made it rolled it up and si-
lently strode away toward the Temple, whither
Cyril followed him.
Through the great gate and into the outer
court they went; the hubbub of buying and
selling was before them.
It seemed to be at its height. The unseemly
disorder was even louder than usual. Sheep
bleated, fowls crowed, cattle bellowed, men
shouted to one another.
"What will he do?" exclaimed Cyril, for
now the whip was raised above the head of
the Master. Stern indeed was his face at that
moment, as he drove forth the chaffering
throng. Loud bellowed the beasts as they fled
in terror, and loudly, for a moment, shouted
their astonished and angry owners.
"They will turn and stone him!" was one
quick thought in Cyril's mind; but it vanished.
Not even the cattle and the sheep fled more
unresistingly than did the human beings from be-
fore that scourge and from the rebuking face of
him who wielded it. The dealers in fowls caught
up their coops and cages to hurry them away,
but no such escape was permitted to the dealers
in money. A moment before they had been
sitting, in their customary insolent security, be-
hind their tables, upon which were piled the
various coins they dealt in. Of all the thieves
who polluted the Temple they were the worst
offenders. A punishment came to these men
that they could feel more deeply than even the
scourge, for the Teacher grasped the nearest
table and scattered the ringing coins on the
marble pavement, as he said:
"Take these things hence; make not my
Father's house a house of merchandise."
Cyril thought for a moment of the armed
guards of the Temple. They were there, truly,

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

but this was a matter that seemed to concern
the Jews and their religion-not the guards
at all, for the guards were Romans.
There was nothing, apparently, for Cyril to
do, nor for any man of the throng which was

and the religious feeling of the Jewish people.
Every rabbi and every pious Israelite would
surely approve of what had been done.
"But the priests and the rulers what will
they think of it? was a question in Cyril's

tj -
~M.

VA, as~

l~i 2

"'JERUSALEM IS GLORIOUS '

now gathering behind the Teacher. His own
disciples were there, and a fast-increasing throng
of sturdy Galileans, whose faces showed hearty
approval of his course.
So the buying and selling which had so long
polluted the outer court of the Temple came
to an end. Cyril was a Jewish boy, and he
could perfectly understand the acclamations
that were arising so noisily on all sides. He
knew that the Teacher from Nazareth had only
acted in accordance with the public opinion
VOL. XXIII.-43.

mind, and others felt as he did, for he heard
one of the disciples say to another:
"It is written, The zeal of thy house hath
eaten me up.'"
The only criticism came from one of the
Jewish bystanders, speaking as if for the others.
He said, as questioning the Master's authority:
"What sign shewest thou unto us, seeing
that thou doest these things ? "
It sounded like an entirely reasonable ques-
tion, considering what a responsibility had been

337

338

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

taken in enforcing the Temple law of holiness No more was said, but many were beginning
entirely without the authority of priest or ruler, to treasure the utterances of the Galilean
and the reply was: Teacher, and this saying of his was not for-
"Destroy this temple, and in three days I gotten. Cyril could not then, nor for long
will raise it up." afterward, have understood at all, if he had
It did not appear to be an answer. It did been told that Jesus really spoke of the tem-
ple of his own body.
But in later times his
answer was thus ex-
plained. All Cyril then
knew was that the ex-
pulsion of the money-
changers was a proof
of power by one who
would soon, he fullybe-
lieved, draw the sword
of a military leader, and
become a captain of
the house of Israel.
Just then he heard
a voice behind him in
tones of strong ap-
proval:
.: He has done well.
A He is for the Law.
He is of the house of
David; he should be
zealous for the Law."
Cyril turned to look
into the glowing face
of Isaac Ben Nassur.
The cleansing of the
.Temple was in accord-
ance with the strict
principles of the learned
rabbi, and Isaac's next
words to Cyril were
both cordial and affec-
tionate
Come thou with us.
Thou shalt eatthy Pass-
over lamb with thine
THE IMONEV-CHIANGEIRS AND DEALERS EXPEI.LED FROM THEII EMPL. own kindred. Thou
belongest with us."
not offer even the sign demanded, for nobody This invitation was in keeping with Jewish
could or would destroy the Temple; and the custom, and Cyril went with Isaac. He felt
questioner responded: himself, however, a very insignificant addition
"Forty and six years was this temple in to the party, which included some of the most
building, and wilt thou rear it up in three dignified men of Cana.
days ? Isaac's wife, Hannah, was with him, and

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

there were other women belonging to the sev-
eral families represented.
There were yet two days to be spent before
the Passover itself; and Cyril at first knew
hardly what to do with them. He heard, how-
ever, that the chief priests and the rulers of the
Temple had immediately issued orders that the
outer court of the Temple should be kept abso-
lutely clear of everything and everybody pro-
hibited by the Law.
A complete victory had therefore been gained.
As for the Romans, or any other heathen, they
did not care how strict might be the religious
notions of anybody who did not meddle with
their power to govern Judea and to collect the
taxes.
Cyril's main idea, as soon as his mind began
to clear a little, was to find out all he could
about the Roman power. As he learned its ex-
tent, his respect for it grew. With the dawn of
each day, he was out from among his friends
bent upon learning all about Jerusalem. They,
too, had much that required their attention, and
did not give him a thought.
The walls were so high, that it seemed im-
possible for any enemy to get over them.
There were towers, and there were guards at all
the gates. The castles and forts were so many
and so strong, and the soldiers were so warlike,
so well trained, the city seemed unconquerable.
It made Cyril's heart sink, the day before
the Passover, when he went out by the Roman
camp and saw a legion of the men who had
overcome the armies of all nations drawn up
in glittering ranks to be reviewed by their offi-
cers, and by some great men who were there
from Rome, and by some visiting princes from
other provinces who were guests of the rulers
of Judea. He asked himself sadly, how could
the coming king of Israel gather a force strong
enough to withstand the Roman legions, of
which so many could be sent against him, or
how could he drive them out of such a strong-
hald as the walled city Jerusalem ?

CHAPTER IX.
HEROD'S"AMPHITHEATER.
THE Passover feast was eaten with all solem-
nity, and Cyril went with Ben Nassur and his
friends, before and afterward, to witness the

Temple sacrifices and to take part in the grand
ceremonies. He heard the priests and Levites
chant the psalms; he saw the smoke go up
from the altars. It seemed to him that he had
never before had any idea of what it was to be a
Jew and to have a right in Jerusalem, the City
of the Great King, the Holy Place, to which
all the nations of the world were one day to
come and worship. It was to be a wonderful
kingdom; but, somehow, the more he thought
about it and the more he saw, the smaller
grew the idea which had brought him to the
feast-the idea that Jesus of Nazareth was
really the king who was to come. It had not
seemed so incredible while he was among the
hills of Galilee.
During the few days before Ben Nassur and
his friends were to set out for home, Cyril saw
hardly anything of the Teacher. On one of
those days he went to the amphitheater, the
circus which Herod the Great had built, at some
distance from the city. He paid for a seat in
one of the upper galleries. On the tiers of
seats below him were all sorts of people, and
far away, on the opposite side of the vast arena,
the sandy level in the middle, he saw, in the
lower tier, a canopied place that was furnished
magnificently. In it there were throne-seats,
and on them sat King Herod Antipas, Pontius
Pilatus, the Roman governor, two Roman gen-
erals, with other distinguished men, and a num-
ber of richly dressed women, some of whom
wore brilliant tiaras or coronets upon their
heads. He stared at them for a few minutes,
and at the tremendous throng of people, but
after that he thought only of what was going
on in the arena.
There were chariot races; and Cyril could
not help being intensely excited by the mad
rush of the contending teams, while all the
thousands who looked on shouted and raved.
After the races, however, came scenes some of
which made him shudder. There were foot-
races and boxing-matches, but these were soon
over, and then there were contests between
pairs of swordsmen, spearmen, clubmen, and
the like, in which the fights went on until one
of the combatants was slain. Close upon the
last of these duels, bands of gladiators marched
in from opposite sides of the arena, and charged

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

each other like detachments of soldiers upon a
real battle-field. The fighting was furious and
desperate, but one side was soon beaten, for the
parties had not been equal. One party had
been trained warriors, professional gladiators,
and the other only common men, captives
taken in a recent raid of Pilate's soldiers upon
a wild tribe beyond the Dead Sea. They were

come, he would never permit such cruelty as
this! I ought not to be here! I will not come
again! "
It was no place for him, and yet he had all
the while been thinking of some things that he
had seen, and of more that he had heard, of
the dealings of Herod and of the Romans with
such Jews as had offended them.

JS.
~r::z. -

* 'A-'

"THERE WERE CONTESTS BETWEEN SWORDSMEN."

brave enough, but they were put there only to
be killed for the amusement of the great men
and of the multitude. So were the poor victims
with whom the day's exhibition closed, for they
were driven into the arena, half armed, to con-
tend as best they could with a number of hun-
gry lions, tigers, leopards, and hyenas, which
were loosed upon them from their dens under
the tiers of seats.
Oh thought Cyril, If our king were to

"They seem," he said to himself, "to enjoy
putting our people to death, just as they enjoy
the suffering of captives and gladiators in the
circus. The king will drive out these wicked
Romans when he comes and takes the king-
dom."
Cyril had something new to hear that night,
his last night in Jerusalem. Rabbi Isaac, dur-
ing the first few days after his arrival, had had
a hard time of it; so many people had inquired

340

.-'.

THE SWORDMAKER'S SON.

of him concerning Jesus of Nazareth, the Gali-
lean Teacher, and particularly about the won-
der performed at Isaac's house, in turning water
into wine. The rabbi had firmly declared all he
knew, but the dread of having to tell it over and
over had inclined him to keep away from ques-
tioners. Of any other marvelous things which
had been done in Galilee he knew nothing.
Neither did Cyril, but now something entirely
new and positive had come. The Nazarene,
as some men called Jesus, had been healing
sick people in Jerusalem during the Passover
season not a few, but many. His fame was
growing rapidly, and the Passover pilgrims
would carry news of him not only to every
corner of the land of Canaan, but to other
lands to the very ends of the earth.
Ben Nassur said that he wished he had seen
some of these marvelous cures; but his regret
was slight compared to that of Cyril.
"I did not think he would heal the sick in
the city," he said. Yet I might have known
the Teacher would do wonderful works. But I
have learned all about Jerusalem."
"Thou hast done well enough," said Isaac.
" Thou art only a youth. What wonder he has
healed the sick ? He is of the house of David.
He is now a rabbi, truly. But Nathanael is
wrong, for he is not the coming king of Israel.
They will never anoint him. No, no, my son;
he will never be the Anointed."
Cyril was silent. Ben Nassur had spoken
in Hebrew, and the words he used, "the
Anointed," were the very words which, trans-
lated through the Greek and Latin tongues
into our own, are the Christ."
Cyril went to sleep that night with the de-
termination to cease his sight-seeing about the
city. He would keep as close as he could to
the Teacher, so that he might see him do works
as remarkable as that which he had done at
Cana.
Perhaps Isaac had formed a like purpose,

but it was too late, for almost the first words
Cyril heard from him the next morning were
these:
"The son of Joseph of Nazareth hath de-
parted for Galilee. It is time for us also to go.
Get thee ready. We shall see, now, what he
will do in his own country."
It was all in vain that Ben Nassur and his
friends prepared in haste, for Jesus and his dis-
ciples were a day's journey on their way. As
for Cyril, he felt that a misfortune had befallen
him!
"I long to see the wonderful works he is
doing," he thought; and I shall not be with
him."
And indeed many were healed all along the
homeward way. Ben Nassur and those who
were with him heard accounts of these events
from place to place. He had worked wonders
even at and near Samaria. When they reached
Cana, the Master had been there already. He
had preached there, and he had healed the
sick; then he had gone onward toward Caper-
naum.
My son," said the rabbi to Cyril, with great
dignity of manner, "I will go to Capernaum
myself. There have been many rabbis who have
healed the sick. It is wonderful, but I have
heard of such marvels; yet it is my duty to see
it done."
So the wise and learned rabbi hardly paused
in his journey save to sleep one night at his
own house in Cana. He even bade Cyril go
forward that very evening, promising to follow
in the morning.
"It will be the sixth day," he said. "I
must be in Capernaum to hear him preach in
the synagogue on the Sabbath."
"Simon is living at Capernaum now," said
Cyril. "Thou wilt find me at his house. I
shall see Lois, too, and she will tell me all she
has heard about the Teacher, and where he is
to preach."

(To be continued.)

POP-CORN PEOPLE.

BY PEARL RIVERS.

HERE are some Pop-corn People
Who have just popped out of the coals,
All dressed as if for a wedding-
Bless their dear little souls!

Here is Ching Chang from China,
Lacking his long pigtail;
And here is a hale old Scotchman,
Barring his cakes and ale.

Here is Sir Walter Raleigh,
And a well-known Spanish don;
And look! by the veil of the
Prophet!
A Turk with his turban on.
(- ? .'"

4t

I'.-
(~ .7

'A 4

-, U'
7
.A '

POP-CORN PEOPLE.

-_I'

A '
4.JiL

K;e .

3,

Here is a sweet young lady,
Who comes with a little page; (
She wears a ruff that betokens
The Elizabethan age.

Here is a pop-corn "Brownie "
That our dear Palmer Cox
Has n't put to work in a picture,
Ready to row or to box.

This is a Humpty-Dumpty ;
And a jester of the court, --
And this is a jolly sailor, -
Just from a foreign port.

"The top o' the morning' ter yez!"-
Why, here are Bridget and Pat,
Who have just arrived from the Cove
Cork-
Is anything plainer than that?

of(

c4
\J

Here, with her tate fozjire'e,"
Is a stately dame from France;
And here is a Choctaw Indian, I
Asking her out to dance.

Dear little Pop-corn People!
Pop!-pop !-pop!- a
They are coming too fast to count them,
But it seems that they cannot stop.

White little, light little people!
Bright little people all!
No wonder the "fire-fairy"
Is treating them to a ball!

Now children, note-and remember-
These new folk, face by face,
Whom I was the first to discover-
This dear little, queer little race!

343

"T1.I .

HOW THE SLIDE WAS SPOILED.

-JI,

ONE Friday there was a heavy fall of snow, and some small boys and
girls laid plans for a good time on Saturday. They made a great many
snow-balls, and piled them in heaps ready for the next day. They made
a slide down the side of a little hill, jumping on the snow'until it was smooth
and hard, and then poured pails of water over the slide to make it icy and
slippery. All was done by dinner-time, and the children ran home, think-
ing how much fun they would have on Saturday.
No sooner were the children gone than a little bear passed that way.
It was his birthday, and he had on his best coat and trousers, but he had
not had any presents. Mr. and Mrs. Bruin had meant to give him some
honeycomb, but the farmer who kept bees bought a big do about that

time, and Mr. and Mrs. Bruin could not get the honey for their son Smiler.

344

ONE Friday there was a heavy fall of snow, and some small boys and
girls laid plans for a good time on Saturday. They made a great many
snow-balls, and piled them in heaps ready for the next day. They made
a slide down the side of a little hill, jumping on the snow 'until it was smooth
and hard, and then poured pails of water over the slide to make it icy and
slippery. All was done by dinner-time, and the children ran home, think-
ing how much fun they would have on Saturday.
No sooner were the children gone than a little bear passed that way.
It was his birthday, and he had on his best coat and trousers, but he had
not had any presents. Mr. and Mrs. Bruin had meant to give him some
honeycomb, but the farmer who kept bees bought a big dog about that
time, and Mr. and Mrs. Bruin could not get the honey for their son Smiler.
So Smiler Bruin was a little cross, and was walking about the woods and
growling to himself. But when he came to the slide that the children had
344

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 345
made, and saw the piles of snow-balls, he lost his ill humor, and was very
glad. "Oh!" he cried, "how kind of somebody! They made this nice
slide for a surprise. I will give a party and ask all my friends." He ran off,
as fast as he could go through the deep snow, and told all the little bears
he knew to come to his Slide and Snowball Party. Ten of them could come,
and trotted after Smiler, who led the way, as proud as he could be.
The water had frozen on the slide, and it was as smooth as any little
bear-cub could wish. All said that Smiler should have the first slide; and,
taking a good run, he spread his legs wide apart, and sailed grandly down
the hill, while all the little bears clapped their paws and growled joyfully.
But, when Smiler came to the foot of the hill, his claws hit a branch that
was just under the top of the snow, and Smiler went paws over nose into
a deep drift, and had to be pulled out by the heels.
Then the little bears went down the slide, one by one, as fast as they
could go. And they threw all the snowballs at each other. Every time a
bear was hit, he did not like it much; but all the others did, so he had to
laugh. Well! -when Smiler's birthday party was over the children's snow-
balls were all smashed, and the slide was all scratched up, and the children
never knew who did it.

VOL. XXIII.-44.

RHYMES OF THE STATES.
BY GARRETT NEWKIRK.

2-

"Denver and Rio Grande"* road
To Utah we may take;
Then travel through the northern part,
Around the Great Salt Lake.

S At forty miles an hour, or more,
We speed upon our way;
Where "prairie schooners" crawled along,
Scarce twenty miles a day.
First came the Mormons to this land,
With notions rather queer;
From trouble in the Eastern States
They moved, and settled here.
The thriving city of Salt Lake
Affords a pleasing sight;
S:-." The Lake is of the deepest blue,
With shores of gray and white.
*Pronounced Rio Grand'y.
--..,.
. ... .

COL.

: i

S'" .r

-j.

. o /."

RHYMES OF THE STATES.
BY GARRETT NEWKIRK.

2-

"Denver and Rio Grande"* road
To Utah we may take;
Then travel through the northern part,
Around the Great Salt Lake.

S At forty miles an hour, or more,
We speed upon our way;
Where "prairie schooners" crawled along,
Scarce twenty miles a day.
First came the Mormons to this land,
With notions rather queer;
From trouble in the Eastern States
They moved, and settled here.
The thriving city of Salt Lake
Affords a pleasing sight;
S:-." The Lake is of the deepest blue,
With shores of gray and white.
*Pronounced Rio Grand'y.
--..,.
. ... .

COL.

: i

S'" .r

-j.

. o /."

RHYMES OF THE STATES.

,,, ''' *.----' .. ....... *______
r ,
Fj -,

To Utah now we '1 say good-by,
And, toward the "Golden Gate,"
We'll cross Nevada's boundary line
Near a corner of the State. '1
Nevada has a climate dry,
With very little rain;
But while her gold and silver last "
Her people won't complain. T
From this State's many famous mines
Much silver has come out;
And Carson, capital of the State, ,
Was named for "Kit," the scout.
Nevada has the queerest stream-- .
A stream that ends on land; VI..
The Humboldt River it is called, .
Which sinks in desert sand. -

C 7~ r.

THE LETTER-BOX.

CHINESE CHILDREN ON THEIR NEW YEAR'S DAY.

EDITORIAL NOTE.

AN item in the Jack-in-the-Pulpit Department of our
November issue, under the heading, Reading by Let-
ter," introduced some bright lines entitled "Quite a
Spell." They were copied from a newspaper clipping
that bore neither their author's name nor that of the news-
paper. The editor of ST. NICHOLAS has learned that
the verses were originally written twelve years ago by
Mr. Herwick C. Dodge, and she gladly gives him due
credit at this earliest opportunity.

READERS of the Letters to a Boy," by Robert Louis
Stevenson, which are completed in this number, will be
interested in reading the account which follows, of a
Samoan picnic at Papaseea, shown in the illustration on
page 310. We reprint the description of this picnic
from the article Samoa: the Isles of the Navigators,"
published in THE CENTURY MAGAZINE for May, 1889:
An experience in which every stranger visiting Apia is
invited to indulge is a jaunt of about three miles to what
is known as Papaseea, a sheet of water falling over
smooth rocks, where he is introduced to the novelties of
a Samoan picnic, which is in reality a day's frolic in the
water.
Generally the party is decided upon several days pre-
viously, so that an ample supply of refreshments may be
prepared and sent ahead early in the morning, cooked
in the Samoan fashion, with hot stones, in the ground.
At about eight o'clock, while the dew is still on the
leaves, dusky maidens, resplendent with cocoanut oil, and

attired in festal wreaths of flowers and bright-colored
lava-lava, assemble with the young men and. invited
guests at the appointed place preparatory to the march.
Shouting, laughing, and singing, they spring lightly
along the path leading to the falls, and, as soon as they
arrive, one after another eagerly jump into the clear,
cool pool of water at the base of the falls, diving and
splashing in the water with screams of laughter and de-
light that make the valley ring with their enthusiasm.
The greatest feat, which, when first attempted, fairly
takes the breath away, is to go above the rocks over
which the stream rushes, and with three or four seated
together, toboggan-fashion, slide over the smooth rock
for a distance of eighteen feet, at an angle of forty de-
grees, and plunge into the pool below. The sensation
produced is indescribable, and can hardly be imagined un-
less realized. After spending a few hours in the water,
it is forsaken to partake of dinner, served upon banana
leaves for plates, and with fingers for forks. Then all
return to the aquatic sports, which are kept up until it is
time to return home.

NEW YORK.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have often wished that your
little readers might see Chinatown in San Francisco
during the celebration of the Chinese New Year's day.
It is not ushered in soberly and quietly, as we receive our
January I, but with noise and color, feasting and gaiety.
The custom of giving presents is universal; even the
laundrymen carry packages of nuts and Chinese candy to
the houses where they serve, and the cooks and other
house-servants often give very beautiful and valuable
presents to their employers. The prettiest gift, though,
is the Chinese lily, or narcissus. On the day preceding
the festival men may be seen carrying on their heads
48

THE LETTER-BOX.

great trays filled with blue-and-white bowls, in which
blossom the growing bulbs of the national flower.
The Chinese children always have a great fascination
for me. They carry themselves with conscious dignity
in their gorgeous holiday dresses of purples, yellows,
bright greens, and vivid pinks, and they may be seen in
great numbers with pots of lilies, toddling along on their
unsteady little shoes, enjoying in their sober fashion the
bursting bombs and fire-crackers that shower about them.
During the New Year's festival the government offices
are closed for a month, and most of the shops for at
least three days. The streets are swept, which is to
them a most unusual attention; and the restaurants and
joss-houses are polished and bedecked with all their
brightest hangings and cushions.
The inscription in Chinese characters which is seen
on the left of the sketch of Chinese children is the usual
Chinese New Year's greeting: Good luck for the New
Year."
Let me echo it for all the little friends of our good
saint. Yours sincerely,
ALBERTINE RANDALL WHEELAN.

AUCHNADROCHIT, AOROCH BRAE, LOCH DORNOCH,
ROSS-SHIRE, SCOTLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am twelve years old, and I
have taken you for three years. I have never been out
of Scotland-indeed, I have never been out of this
county, so I am doubly interested to hear about other
countries. My mother promised to give me ST. NICH-
OLAS as soon as I could speak English, for we speak
nothing but Gaelic here. And now I ride down to the
nearest post-office ten miles from here every month
for you. I have very few books, so you may imagine
how I like to get you. I am the only girl among ten
brothers, and they are all older than myself, except two,
Ronald and Donald, who are six-year-old twins, and
never out of mischief. Yesterday they let some sheep,
that were going to be sold, out of the paddock, and we had
such ahunt for them! You must know we live on a large
sheep-farm, with three thousand sheep, and ten beautiful
collie dogs, one of which belongs to me. My father gave
him to me when he was apuppy, four years ago. I have sent
him to several shows since. He has taken two first prizes
and one second. My father gave him to me because one
day one of the dogs went mad. I was out riding, and sud-
denly I met him rushing along, all foaming. I knew in a
minute he was mad, and feared that he would bite some
one. I turned my horse, and galloped back as hard as
I could. I was then six miles from home, but I never
stopped galloping all the way. When I got home, I
ran and got my rifle; and I was n't a moment too soon,
for when I had gone but a little way from the house the dog
came galloping round a corner, and I fired. He just
ran a few paces toward me, and then fell dead.
As so many children write about their pets, I will just
tell you about ours. I have a big dark-chestnut horse,
and an old gray pony, and one lovely Highland cow.
And Ronald and Donald have a very ugly black mongrel
puppy that follows them wherever they go, an old cart-
horse that is past work, and two goats that they drive in
a little cart.
With best wishes for a long life to you, I remain your
admiring reader, MARGARET MACD- .

FOREST ROAD, NOTTINGHAM, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A few months ago you gave us
a ballad on Nottingham Fair. I liked it very much, and

wish to tell you that on the third, fourth, and fifth of
October it was Nottingham Fair once more.
It is by no means such a large fair as formerly; but,
for all that, many thousand people attend it.
I live five minutes' walk from the caves where Robin
Hood hid himself so securely. Nottingham means the
Home of Caves.
You would have hard work to find the far-famed for-
est, for houses have taken the place of trees; but still
Robin's memory is kept green by our volunteers, who
are called "The Robin Hood," and wear a green uni-
form in imitation of his "Lincoln Green."
I have taken you for many years, and once fancied
you were not grown up enough for me, so I tried -
well, I will not say which magazine with the result that
I quickly took you again, and mean to stick to you all
my life. Yours sincerely, NELL C--

NEW HAVEN, CONN.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are little twin brothers,
aged ten. We are going to Yale when we get big. Our
papa went to Yale, and had a doggie that followed him
to class one day, like Mary's little lamb, and would
bark when any one said "Yale."
He took us to the games yesterday, when Cambridge
played Yale, which beat.
I am writing this, though Allan wants to. We love
our country and ST. NICHOLAS and Yale.
Your loving readers,
ALLAN AND BRANSCOMBE T- .

OFICINA LA PALMA, CHILE.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write
to you, as I do not remember seeing a letter from Chile
in your magazine. We live in one of the nitrate ofi-
cinas on the Tarapaca Pampa. The pampa is a sand
desert. Nothing grows on it except a few trees called
tamarnuales, and some low bushes. It never rains, but
a thick sea fog comes up from the coast, called the ca-
manchaca. When it is very heavy, it looks like clouds
driving along the ground; everything gets quite wet.
The only water to be had is brackish, and is used for
driving the machinery, and for washing and watering the
animals. The drinking-water has to be condensed.
There are about two hundred mules in the corral, be-
sides horses, sheep, and lambs. It is my little sister
Queenie's and my delight to go and see them with father.
They are fed on past, which comes from the South or
from some little valleys in the Cordilleras ten thousand
feet high. They bring flowers down too.
I have adear little horse of my own. It has three names
-"Prince Charming,"" Nubbles," and" Bunnyboy," be-
cause it is always moving its nose. Sometimes Queenie
rides a mare now. She likes a mule because it goes much
quicker, and she likes trotting. I have no end of pets.
"Chueco" I like best; he is a funny little dog, a dachshund.
He sits up and begs and pretends to be dead when we
say Muerto." I have also a big green, red, blue, and
yellow loro or parrot; he calls us all by name, laughs,
sings, and whistles, and has learned to cough since we
had the whooping-cough; and two ringdoves, two cana-
ries, and two fat, fluffy white rabbits.
In February we went to an oasis in the desert called
Pica. It is a small village, and nearly every one has a
vineyard and fruit-trees; the fruit is sold in the oficinas
and in Iquique. There are also springs of water, some
of which are quite hot; the visitors and natives bathe in
them.
I am ten years old. Every one says I am very tall
and fat for my age. I do not think many of your little
friends weigh ninety-seven pounds at that age. Mother
is going to take me home to school. I am longing to see

THE LETTER-BOX.

my brothers, who are studying in Edinburgh. Herr-
mann, the eldest, has just left college; he is first this
year, and has won a prize. I hope you will print my
letter. I remain ever your loving friend,
NELITA W-.

STIMBER RIDGE, VA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have wanted to write to you
ever since I read Mr. Roosevelt's Remember the
Alamo," because I live on the very spot where General
Sam Houston was born. My grandfather lived for years
in the old Houston house, and then built this brick
house on the site of the old cottage, using the banisters
from the old Houston staircase in the back porch, where
they are still to be seen. One door has several bullet-
holes in it.
In the yard is an old, old tree with the marks and
holes still in it where his father had his cider-press. Peo-
ple from Texas come here almost every summer to see
where Sam Houston was born and lived until he was a
big boy and went to Tennessee.
His grandson was here this summer, and can whistle
Mexican tunes, and whistle two parts at one time, which
is very wonderful.
My uncleJohn Barr has sent ST. NICHOLAS since be-
fore I was born ever since ST. NICHOLAS was born.
My oldest brother got it when he was little, and it still
comes. I would not know what to do for something
nice to read and look at if I had not dear old friend
ST. NICHOLAS.
I am twelve years old. I like to read Mr. Roosevelt's
tales because he is so American,--and so am I.
Your true friend, SYD T- .

FRANKFORT, IND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would tell you
about our kitten. When he was very small Grandma
Young gave him to me, and mama had to feed him with
a spoon for three weeks. He was so hungry for the milk
that mama could hardly hold him. He looked so ugly
with the milk all over him that we thought he would never
be a pretty kitten. He had no mother to teach him to
wash his face. He was a great big cat before he learned.
Mama thought she would teach him to lap milk like
other kittens, but he would put his paws in the milk and
suck them. Now he is a handsome big cat, and does a
great many cute things. We hold a hoop in one hand
and scratch on the floor with the other, and he will run
and jump throughit. Wehave a fur rug with a leopard
on it in the parlor, and when we don't know where he
is we go in there, and are sure to find him lying on the
rug. I believe he thinks it is his mother. He kisses it
and rubs his head against it as if he loved it. One night
mama heard a great noise in the kitchen ; when she went
out she found him with a little gray mouse, the first one
he ever caught. He played with it for about two hours,
and then he ate it. He watches every night at the same
place where he caught that one. My little sister Mar-
jorie dresses lim up in her doll clothes. His name is
"Timmie," and we love him dearly.
Lovingly, your little friends,
LAWRENCE and MARJORIE S-.

HOPE HOUSE, SOUTH PARK, LINCOLN, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy eight years
old. I take ST. NICHOLAS. I often read the letters the
little boys and girls write you, and I thought I should
like to write you one myself. I had a little steamboat,
and one day while my brother was getting up steam the
boiler burst. I have been to Ramsey, Isle of Man, and

my brother caught a lot of fish. In two mornings he
caught fifteen. There are beautiful rocks at Ramsey,
and beautiful glens on the Isle of Man. My father took
us to Dhoon Glen, which was very beautiful. When we
were at the bottom it took us three quarters of an hour
to climb up. We saw the great Laxey water-wheel. We
went in a steamer round the island, and saw Peel Castle,
Port St. Mary, Port Erin, and Douglas, and we hope
some day to go to the same place again. We enjoyed it
so much. We have a beautiful cathedral at Lincoln, many
hundreds of years old, and an old Roman arch which
was built before the time of Christ. There is a nice stream
of water called the Foss Dyke, which joins the river
Witham to the river Trent, on which we often have a
pleasant row. I remain your loving reader,
WILLIAM CAREY H--.

MARIPOSA, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am nine years old. I have
a little dog; she is spotted. She helps me herd the tur-
keys. We have one hundred. We live in the moun-
tains; it is very brushy and rocky.
My aunt has sent you to me two years. I like you
very much. Your loving reader,
CHESLEY B. C--

POONA, INDIA.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the second time I
have written to you since I began to read you, nearly
three years ago.
I am very fond of you, and I would miss you very
much if I had to go without you. The stories I am
most interested in are "Jack Ballister's Fortunes,"
"Teddy and Carrots: Two Merchants of Newspaper
Row," and A Boy of the First Empire."
There is a Hindu temple about three miles from here,
called Parbutti. It is on a hill, and to get to it nearly a
hundred steps have to be climbed. The Hindu god
Gunput is worshiped in this temple.
Near it is a small room from which a rajah, or king,
watched the battle of Kirkee; and when he saw that the
English had won, and his side had lost, he fled.
Poona is a large military station and a very pretty
place. It was the last capital of the Peshwas, as the
former rulers of Poona used to be called. It is sur-
rounded by beautiful hills, although they are not very
high.
I like India, but I prefer America to it. I have been
here nearly three years since we returned from America,
and I lived here three years before we went home. I
am ten years old now. I remain, your fond reader,
FLORA L. R-

SANTA CRUZ, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I 've just beep reading over the
letters in the "Letter-box."
I 'in very fond of ST. NICHOLAS, and don't know
what I 'd do without it. Mama gets books out of the
library, and some are taken from ST. NICHOLAS. I 've
written a pretty long letter, but I want to say something
more before I stop. I 'm eleven years old to-day. Your
faithful reader, ANNIE BELL B- .

ILLUSTRATED DIAGONAL. other, in the order numbered, the diagonal (from the
upper left-hand letter to the lower right-hand letter) will
S', I spell the name of a popular American writer of poems.
,' '-- I' ~EDNA C. S.

ALL the words pictured contain the same number of
letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below the

I. A NAME of the letter Z. 2. An African quadruped.
3. Flowed out. 4. To fear in a great degree. 5. To
annex. SAMUEL SYDNEY.

NOVEL ACROSTIC.

THE letters represented by stars spell the surname of
a famous poet.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A kind of crossbow formerly used
for shooting stones. 2. Twelve o'clock. 3. Substance.
4. Military stores of all kinds. 5. Pertaining to rural
life and scenes. 6. A king's daughter. 7. A trader.
8. To ponder over. MARY D. KITTREDGE.

351

352 THE RIDDLE-BOX.

-- n-.- j- / ^.

i S I&m
ZZ k JII'b~~c~I'

%~~- t

ILLUSTRATED ZIGZAG.
EACH of the eleven small pictures maybe described by
one word. The eleven words are all of the same length.
When these are rightly guessed, and placed one below
another, the zigzag (beginning at the upper left-hand
letter) will spell the name of a very famous English
author.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.

MY first is in love, but not in hate;
My second, in soon, but not in late;
My third is in lunch, but not in fete;
My fourth is in dish, but not in plate;
My fifth is in Katharine, but not in Kate;
My sixth is in postern, but not in gate;
My seventh is in value, but not in rate;
My eighth is in eat, and also in ate;
My ninth is in orange, but not in date;
My whole is a poem, of a lot
Written by Sir Walter Scott.
KATHARINE HUEY (AGED TEN YEARS).

CENTRAL ACROSTIC.
ALL of the words described contain the same number
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below
another, the central letters will spell the name of a small
American quadruped.
CROSS-WORDS: I. A small fresh-water fish. 2. To
lose heart. 3. A small pleasure-boat. 4. A runner.
5. A domestic fowl. 6. Misfortune. 7. A very small,
light boat. HERBERT J. SIDDONS.

CONNECTED SQUARES.

III. CENTRALSQUARE: I. Aroma. 2. Alightboat.
3. To enrich. 4. A running knot. 5. Apipe or funnel.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. A pupil in a
military school. 2. A genus of tropical plants. 3. Gift.
4. The great epic poem of Virgil. 5. Dilatory.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. Wants. 2.
The fruit of the oak. 3. A small country of Asia. 4.
The carcass of a whale after the blubber has been re-
moved. 5. Protuberances. "JERSEY QUARTETTE."

CUBE.

I 2

5 . 6

3 .* . 4
4

7 S

FROM I to 2, a collection of books; from I to 3, orna-
mental folds in a headdress; from 2 to 4, more juvenile;
from 3 to 4, a pattern; from 5 to 6, nations; from 5 to 7,
exhibited in a showy manner; from 6 to 8, specimens;
from 7 to 8, injures; from I to 5, a light-producing ap-
paratus; from 2 to 6, vegetables which grow in warm
climates; from 4 to 8, small quadrupeds; from 3 to 7, a
winter plaything. MERRIE CHRISTMAS."

RHYMED TRANSPOSITIONS.

EACH blank is to be filled by a word of six letters.
No two words are alike, though the same six letters,
properly arranged, may be used to make the six missing
words.

A studio here greets the view,
With here and there a brush or two;
An easel of the * kind,
For use conveniently designed;
A quaint old rug, an antique chair,
Confusion, pictures everywhere.
Queer old * and flagons, too,
And drapery of * blue.
A girl, in gown of olden days
(Not such as meets our modern gaze,
With ruffles * and airy bows),
Dainty and fair, no furbelows;
She holds a rose with * fair,.
Filling the room with perfume rare.
A studio, an artist, too,
Some skilful touches, just a few.
A ** on the easel lies,
The work is done-the artist sighs.
E. K. H.